At Day's End
by PhantomProducer
Summary: She is no hero; she is under no illusions on that score. And he, well, he is one; there is no denying it. Still, sometimes even heroes need help from an average person. At the end of the day, the actions of a civilian sets the hero on a different road, altering them both as their paths twist and twine together. Part one of the "Of Time" series. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own anything. You can thank Marvel/Stan Lee/Disney/etc. for all the source material.

* * *

When the stranger came ambling out of the brush, Holly Martin didn't know what to think. Indeed, that entire day had been something so bizarre, so chaotic, that the appearance of the fellow did not make her wonder.

Initially she'd thought he'd been a fellow witness to the events. She probably would've commiserated with him, were it not for the cold, dead look in his eyes.

She could only stand and gape, much like she had for the past several minutes.

It was her day off, and she had wanted to enjoy it. She had been on a walk in the park, one of those tiny little waysides that ran along the Potomac. She'd chosen to follow along Mt. Vernon Trail, one that she'd walked along dozens of times before, which allowed the illusion of woods though one could still easily see the government buildings and the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge along the opposite bank. It was something she'd gotten used to, with nothing very unusual apart from the occasional encounter with another person along the path. Pretty standard, really. When what appeared to be aircraft carriers ascended into the sky this morning, she was transfixed by the hovering machinery.

Those…things…rose up from the river, huge hovering monsters that could've crushed her neighborhood if they'd been dropped down there, and the morning warped into this weird amalgamation of science fiction and fantasy. Perhaps it shouldn't have made so much of an impact; Holly did hear about the attack on New York, after all. But that hadn't happened in her city, it didn't affect her life. The rumors spoke of aliens tearing up much of Manhattan, the Avengers fighting them off, and supposedly a launched nuke that had been thrown through a portal, but those were the basics. It was secondhand information, and it seemed too far away to really touch her.

Now she had seen something of that caliber, that disrupted her worldview and brought the fantastical much closer to home and to herself.

And then things started to go horribly wrong, at least with the machines. When the minor explosions started, she reacted the only way she could think of: she pressed herself behind a tree to watch the mayhem unfold, with the leafy canopy above as her only protection. Crouching low against the trunk, she winced and forced herself to watch, too stunned to move from her hiding spot. Glass shattered and metal pieces jettisoned from the wreckage. The carriers were launching missiles and taking pot shots at each other, malfunctioning harshly. The river was becoming little more than a glorified dump.

'_What in God's name is going on?'_ Holly wondered over and over again, instinctively ducking as another boom ripped through the air and one carrier nosedived.

In the midst of that chaos, though, she thought she spied people moving within the machines. She couldn't be sure, since there was no clear view that she could have of the insides. But there a shadow seemed to move, and something burst through the glass on the other side…it looked like a man with wings, but at that point she shook her head violently and thought the horror of the situation was beginning to get to her brain and make her hallucinate.

It seemed to go on for hours, but it could have only been a matter of minutes. Time had stopped existing, and she felt she had to watch the destruction. It wasn't safe to stay, and it wasn't safe to leave. She watched in terror as one of the metal beasts tore into the Triskelion (the SHIELD building: it was like the CIA, but sneakier, as far as she knew). Her jaw dropped as more debris fell into the river.

Holly silently prayed that anyone who had been in the building would be okay. She hoped that she wasn't watching dead bodies fall into the water as opposed to flaming machinery.

Once the last carrier had crashed and rested on the earth, once the blasts and booms had been silenced, she rose from her spot, blindly slipping down the trail and trying to comprehend what in the world had just occurred.

That was about the moment the man appeared, his lanky hair matting his face and his arm…shining, in the weak sunlight coming through the trees. She made no remark upon it at the time, merely just stared at him in surprise and alarm. His stiff posture intimidated her, made her insides coil in fright.

And his freezing eyes stared back at her, unnervingly. Though his glance was cold, his face was twisted in confusion, unconsciously mirroring her own expression. The stand-off lasted for seconds, but it felt like minutes to her.

Finally, his gruff voice cut the air, jerking a thumb backwards.

"Get help."

Abruptly, he turned on his heel and darted off through the trees, disappearing before she even had a chance to question him. Pursuing him was futile; she understood that even as she took a few steps towards his flight path. He was gone, and had left her to deal with whatever it was that he had discarded. Her feet sunk into the marshy ground as she plowed through the brush, stomach clenching in fear as she obeyed the stranger's order. This wouldn't be good, she knew that much.

When she broke through to the riverbank, she gasped loudly, and nearly swore in shock.

A body was laying there, a man, and he looked like he was barely breathing.

'"Oh my God, oh my God," she muttered, shivering hard at the sight. Tripping over her own feet, she stumbled forward, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she knelt by the man. Her voice failed to wake him as she called out, his face remaining impassive. The numerous cuts and scrapes flitted in and out of her vision as she struggled to maintain composure. Recognition hit her then, and that time she swore under her breath. Numbly her fingers dialed the necessary numbers, and after a short pause, a there was a calm response.

"911, do you have an emergency?"

"Yeah, I'm with this guy, he's unconscious and beaten up really bad…I think it's Captain America."

It had to be; given the media attention surrounding the Avengers over the last two years, it would've been ridiculous to imagine anyone else would willingly wear a star-spangled uniform besides him. Granted, he was banged up and waterlogged, but it was undoubtedly the great American hero.

"What's your name?"

She blinked; what did her name matter? "Holly. Holly Martin."

"Okay, Holly. Where are you and the injured party?"

Trying to wrestle down her fear and irritation, she began to rattle off directions to the dispatcher, glancing around every few seconds in the hopes that an ambulance would just magically appear that moment. In the midst of assuring them that no, she wasn't injured and no, there was nobody else around them, she found herself breathing heavily. Thoughtlessly, she gently prodded the fallen hero on the arm, to make sure he really was unconscious and couldn't answer the questions put forth himself. When the person on the other end of the line finally told her that help would be coming shortly, she felt a surge of relief rip through her body.

"Thank you, thank you. Oh God, oh God..."

"Miss Martin, don't panic. Just remain calm, and stay where you are. An ambulance is coming."

Her thumb swiped the "end call" button, and she laid a hand gingerly over the captain's hand, her fingers curling around his in a (hopefully, she thought) comforting fashion.

"Okay, okay. If you can hear me, help's coming. Help is coming, I'm not going anywhere," she rambled, watching his face to see if he was rousing. Perhaps his eyelids twitched, but at the time she wasn't sure. Nonetheless, he remained unconscious, and she sighed. "It'll be okay. You'll be okay."

She continued holding his hand, too terrified to do anymore than that. She pondered trying to move him, but squashed the idea in case he'd broken his neck or something. The whines of sirens in the distance bolstered her, allowing her to croon every half minute or so that the captain would be alright. She kept her eyes on him, or the riverbank, or on her knees as she knelt beside him, thinking that if she looked out at the actual destruction on the water she would have a full-blown panic attack.

Shouts broke through her mindless mantra, and made her nearly cry in joy.

"They're here, Captain, they're here."

Lights flashed as the ambulance was parked, the EMTs darting swiftly through the thicket to assess the patient. If they were stunned about the patient's identity, they hid their feelings remarkably well. Stabilizing his neck and body, they talked over her head, using medical terms she didn't understand. She was just grateful they were there, and that someone could help the captain.

Only when the finally loaded him onto the gurney and began hauling him away was she aware that his grip had tightened around her fingers. Holly's arm was tugged, and she was dragged to her feet to follow them.

"You'll have to let him go, Miss," the EMT nearest to her, a tall woman with graying hair, commented when they noticed her tagging along.

"I did," she replied, nodding down to indicate how her hand was relaxed, but his was holding on tightly. On some level, he knew someone was there and must not have wanted to lose that brief comfort she'd offered.

The other EMT shook his head. "We really don't have time to debate this. We have to get moving."

His partner agreed, and jerked her head towards the truck. "You're coming with us, then."

Holly didn't protest; there was no point, really. She climbed into the back with her comatose companion, dully noting that she was glad that she at least had her car keys and wallet with her, so no one could steal her car or anything in it while she was gone. Her mind wandered onto another thought, and it took over her concentration while she maneuvered herself along the gurney and the vehicle roared to life. Taking out her phone again, she pulled up the search bar in her internet browser as one the technicians began to tend to some of the minor wounds on his face. She began to feel haggard, the adrenaline of the afternoon draining out of her as she swiped letters with her free hand. After a few moments, the search engine spit out the result she wanted, and she breathed deeply again.

"Okay...Steve Rogers, it's going to be alright," Holly whispered, feeling a bit stupid for not thinking to look up his proper name before that moment. She was aware as anyone else was of the Avengers, but beyond Tony Stark (because, to be honest, everyone and their mother knew who Tony Stark was) she hadn't remembered their names. For the present, though, she brushed aside her feelings of inadequacy and ran her thumb along his gloved knuckles. It had to be better than calling him by his title, she figured. "Almost there, Steve."

The ride to the hospital was a blur, with them arriving at an emergency ward that had descended into anarchy. Several people had been rushed in, rescued from the damaged Triskelion and in varying degrees of injury. She jogged to keep up as they pushed Steve's gurney along the halls, the staff bellowing for other to make room as they passed.

As they brought him into an operating room that was not overrun as of yet, a doctor appeared at her side. He pressed his palm against Holly's shoulder. He had a kind face, laugh lines cutting into his forehead and his dark eyes filling with compassion. He began to draw her away as they began to cut off his clothing and attach apparatus to his body. "Miss, we're going to have to ask you to leave the room, please. We'll take care of him from here."

"Yes, I know, but-" Holly was cut off from the sudden pain ripping into her fingers. Steve's grasp had become incredibly hard, and Holly groaned loudly.

"Heart rate's climbing, doctor," one of the nurses chimed in, reading the meter and twitching up an eyebrow in surprise. The doctor looked at it quizzically, then back to the young woman. Clearly something was going on in the patient's mind that was allowing him to hang on so tightly, but it was imperative to separate the pair so they could treat the man. Mutely, his eyes appealed to Holly, telegraphing the urgency of compliance. Shrugging her shoulders, she moved a little closer to the gurney again, laying her other hand on his elbow and keeping her gaze locked on his face.

"I'll be here, Steve. I'm not going anywhere," she said, thinking that she must have sounded crazy talking to him. She tried to be soothing, but she felt silly as she kept speaking. "Okay? I'll be here. Please let go."

Slowly, hesitantly, he relaxed his clutch on her, the beeping monitor calming down as well. She bit her lip, moving out of the way and giving the doctors room to save his life. And true to her word, Holly left the room, but she did not leave the hospital. She did not leave him. A few policemen detained her in the corridor, getting a statement from her detailing exactly what she had seen and how she'd come to Steve's rescue. She told them the truth, and was shortly thereafter allowed to depart.

She found a waiting area, the couches and chairs littered with concerned family members and friends from all over the city. Unable to find a seat, she sat down on the floor in an adjacent corridor, and waited quietly. She drew up her knees, curling her arms around and resting her forehead against them. The events of the day kept circling in her mind, flitting from the carriers to the strange man and Captain America, and back. Now that she was able to process it, able to really understand what had happened, she felt so confused and afraid.

The fact that she'd been at the scene of the gigantic accident, and that had things gone a little differently she could've been dead from the falling debris, did not escape her notice. Tears seeped out of her eyes, but she did not wail. Her jaw was set as a headache began coming on. What if the stranger came to find her? What if Steve didn't make it? What, in the name of all that was holy, were those things and why were they allowed to exist in the first place? It all baffled her, and she could not come up with a reasonable answer to any of the queries posed.

The leftover dirt smeared on her face, but she didn't care all that much. There was no question of departing to tidy herself up. Her mind was made up; she wouldn't leave until she was told that Captain America...Steve...was going to be alright. He had to be alright. He just had to.

"Weirdest day ever," she muttered to herself, feeling as though truer words had never been spoken.

* * *

**Author's note: **I will let you know right now...this story terrifies me. Why? Because Captain America/Steve Rogers is my absolute favorite superhero. And I am PETRIFIED of screwing around with his character or with the Marvel universe. I mean that, too. I really don't want to wreck this fandom for anyone with my writing this. That being said, this is one of those stories that will not leave me alone until I write it out. When I first watched the movie in theaters, the scene where it cuts from Steve being dragged out of the river by Bucky to Steve being in the hospital jarred me. And left it open for my mind to play around with possibilities. Thus, this puppy was born.

I don't have a clue how long this is going to be, and I will be writing it in tandem with another ongoing story (in a completely different fandom, holy crap), but I wanted to write something. So here we are. Also, this story is UNBETA'ED. This is mostly due to my personal schedule being a little different from others', and therefore harder to coalesce with someone else's. As such, I do proofread, edit, and restructure my own writing. I try my best, but I am not perfect.

Love it, hate it, any pointers you want to give me? Let me know in a review. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

"Excuse me."

A knee knocking against her legs jerked Holly out of her dreams. After fielding several phone calls from her petrified family, and making some calls of her own to make sure her in-town friends were alright, she'd elected to take a small nap, as the other people in the waiting room had commandeered the television and magazines and she didn't want to do anything else phone-related. There wasn't much else to do in the hospital while she waited to hear back on the captain's condition. Well, other than wince every time she flexed her hand; most likely her hand would be bruised from where he held on too tightly. Small price to pay, really, for her to get Steve the help he needed.

Blinking, she looked around, realizing that someone had sat down next to her. The person, a woman, was dressed discreetly, skinny jeans encasing her legs and a sweatshirt with the hood drawn over her head. Her face was expressionless, almost bored as Holly examined her. It didn't appear that she was many years older than Holly, but her steady gaze and set jaw made her seem so. She was a beauty, despite the minimal bruising on her cheek, and bright red hair filtered in and out of the hood.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, Holly felt recognition click, and she gulped.

"Yes?"

The other woman cleared her throat and slid a little closer. It was a move designed to keep the conversation low and between them only. "You're called Holly."

It wasn't a question, and all Holly could do was nod, on edge now. How did she know her name? The woman blinked, her gaze darting away briefly.

"You were the one who called in for Captain America."

"Yeah. Do you know if he's okay?" she asked, sitting up straighter and preparing to rise. Her new companion (_The Black Widow_, her brain supplied, though there was no consolation to be had in that thought) pulled back on her elbow, forcing her to stay put. Holly winced at her pressure; this sort of thing was happening far too often. She could only be grateful she hadn't pulled her by the hand, as Steve's fingers had left red marks and a little swelling.

"Police report says that you found him by the river. Found him there, even though he'd plummeted into the middle of the river. You didn't get him out," Black Widow murmured, keeping her voice even. "What I want to know is who did."

Holly shrugged. "I don't know. There was this guy..."

Black Widow's bright eyes focused intently on her. "Who was he?"

"I don't know, he didn't say. He just pointed to the river where a body was lying. I didn't think to stay and ask questions."

"Tell me exactly what went down," she commanded, and Holly shifted away instinctively, inwardly chiding herself for being intimidated. In a low voice, the younger woman intimated that the strange man only uttered two words to her, and he had disappeared shortly after, running north through the park. When she inquired about the man's appearance, Holly screwed her eyes shut, trying to mentally recall everything she could about him. The agent before her was determined to know everything, and Holly surely didn't want her to be upset over her deficiencies.

"Dark hair, shoulder length. Light eyes, I think blue. Tall, dark clothes. And his arm was plated, like medieval armor wrapped around, kinda," she listed off slowly, eyelids fluttering open and her gaze fastening on the redhead. The other woman's expression was placid, but her eyebrow was raised. Holly swallowed. "I swear, that's all I know. I could only think of getting help, and the other guy, he just left. I couldn't ditch the captain. There was no one else."

After a long pause, Black Widow ducked her chin once in an approximation of a nod. "Fine. Thanks for your help, all of it."

"You're welcome," Holly replied, the words twisting on her tongue. It was surreal, all of it was, and accepting the thanks of a woman who could probably kill her in half a second was a bit jarring. Motioning backwards, she continued, "Have you heard anything about him? Nobody has told me anything."

The SHIELD agent tilted her head. She seemed curious as to the other girl's concern. "They're still treating him, as far as I know."

Holly sighed, turning away and muttering under her breath, "Hang on, Steve."

The pair sat in silence for a moment, chewing over the brief conversation. Holly narrowed her eyes as she wondered why the Black Widow had talked to her. She had read the police report, evidently, but did she think there was more to it? Did she think Holly might've done something to bring about Steve's current state? Inwardly she snorted at that, fairly confident that she didn't possess the power to do so, physical or mental.

When she glanced up, she half considered asking some questions of her own.

"Natasha!" Both women turned to look in the direction of the caller, effectively diverting Holly's train of thought. It was an African American man, presumably in his late twenties or very early thirties, with wide eyes and a brisk stride. His street clothes consisted of a long-sleeved t-shirt and black pants, with heavy boots capping his feet. He too sported a few scrapes, and seemed to be walking a bit stiffly, but otherwise he appeared to be well. He stopped short in front of the pair, shifting his gaze between the two women. He nodded in Holly's direction. "And a friend?"

"Something like," Natasha (apparently) murmured, getting to her feet gracefully. "She's the one who found him."

The mans eyes widened slightly, but his demeanor did not change otherwise. "I see."

Feeling at a loss to say something, Holly just proffered her hand. "Hi, I'm Holly."

He took it, his hand rough but his grip gentle. "Sam Wilson."

"Nice to meet you," she said, glancing sideways towards the waiting woman. "And you as well, Natasha."

The redhead inclined her head, but shot a reprimanding glance at Sam. "Holly here was informing me of what exactly transpired on the river. Or riverbank, I guess would be the more accurate description."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Anything important?"

"Perhaps. For now, though, it can wait."

He snorted, not impressed. "Until when?"

Natasha had, by this point, pivoted on her heel and started making her way towards the entrance. She hesitated at the end of the hall, flashing a quick smirk over her shoulder at the pair before she had her final say. "Until later."

With that, she was gone, having gotten what she wanted. Sam, in turn, rolled his eyes before settling back against the far wall, chewing over something in his mind. Holly ultimately felt lost, and her headache from before was coming back with a vengeance. She had no idea what was going on, who these people were, or why she was sticking to her (now seemingly) asinine plan to wait out Steve's treatment.

"Are you his friend?" she wondered, curious as to why it had been so long for anyone to show up and ask about Captain America, for anyone to be concerned. It seemed that he would at least have some admirers waiting around to hear about his welfare, but she'd heard nothing from anyone who chanced to pass her by (while she was awake, that was). The other man half smiled, shrugging a bit.

"Yeah. I would've been here sooner, but I had to get patched up myself. Same as her."

Holly digested that news, taking a closer look at him. If there were any bandages, they were hidden beneath his clothes. Not quite as serious injuries, then.

"So have you heard anything about Steve's condition? From what she said," she said hooked her thumb in the direction of Natasha's exit, "there wasn't any real change."

Sam sighed, scratching his neck. "They're wrapping up treatment, and will be moving him to his own room eventually."

Holly sensed something in his pause. "But?"

"But, they don't think he'll be waking up anytime soon."

She felt the blood drain from her face, immediately jumping to an extreme conclusion. "A coma?"

Vehemently Sam shook his head, reassuring her, "No, no. They don't anticipate that. Just his brain is in recovery mode after all that he's been through."

She shivered, not knowing if he was being honest or just dressing up the situation to stop her from looking panic-stricken. The blood rushing back to her head made her dizzy, threatening to turn her headache into a migraine. Either way, she got herself under control, slowly. Pulling her phone out, she glanced at the time, not surprised to see the digital four o'clock shine at her. Spending four hours in the same position left her cramped, and not only that.

On cue, her stomach rumbled; she hadn't eaten since around 8:30 AM. Hospital fare was a little unappealing, but it was what she could get. Her new companion chuckled a little as she winced.

"Let's go see if the cafeteria has been picked over. I'm starving, too."

Getting to her feet, she found herself swaying from side to side briefly. "I gotta get some aspirin, too."

Sam held her forearm, leading her to the left. "Okay, detour, and then food."

**xXxXxXx**

Over a combination of lunch and dinner, Holly and Sam didn't speak much. There was chitchat to be had about the weather, about the ongoing condition of their mutual acquaintance, and about their separate jobs. She thought it was cool for Sam to be a sort of public speaker and counselor at the veterans' hospital across town, and he at least listened politely when she spoke of her work as the manager of a book store. It stalled out when she asked if he knew what was going on with the carriers that morning.

"I'm not sure it's something I am at liberty to talk about," he muttered, sitting up straight in his chair, signaling that it would be best to drop it. She ignored that.

"So you do know, but you won't tell me."

He let out a long-suffering sigh before leaning closely. "All I can say is that it is definitely better that those things are destroyed, for the good of the world."

She wrinkled her nose. "If that's all you can say, then I am certainly glad they are. Because they sure didn't look nice."

"They really weren't."

Quiet. And then: "So what happened down by the river?"

Holly's eyelids drooped. "You didn't read the police report like-"

He chuckled, cutting her off, "I don't have her resources. I've got some, but not _hers._"

Holly didn't like the sound of that, but she took the comment in stride. "I called for help. That's pretty much all that happened that directly involved me. Anything else, ask Natasha."

Sam closed his eyes, and she sensed him rolling them behind the lids, but brushed it aside. She was getting tired of repeating herself, and she had no wish to think about the strange fellow on the path any longer.

Eventually they found their way back to the waiting area, which had emptied out quite a bit in their absence. Sam took up residence in an armchair closest to a television set, with a nondescript baseball game on its screen. She occupied the couch, not caring for the content but glad to have something else to dwell on. Idly they watched, with him scratching at his hidden bandages and her rubbing her temples every so often. The headache had receded, but she wasn't going to risk another onslaught, if she could help it.

She judged it to be around seven o'clock (and later confirmed it with the time display on her phone) when the captain's doctor walked around the corner. He looked exhausted, but not unduly upset. "Mister Wilson, Miss Martin?"

Sam switched off the television, eagerly rising. "Yeah?"

"We've moved Captain Rogers into his own room. He's under restricted access, but you have been given permission to see him for a short time this evening. It can't be for very long, as he's recovering, but you can come back tomorrow during visiting hours," he explained, guiding them through the labyrinth to the patient rooms towards the south end of the hospital. Sam nodded at that, looking out the corner of his eye at Holly as she did the same. There had been no discussion of what either intended to do, but it became clear that both were going to see him whenever they could. Scooping up the file that was waiting in the holder outside the door, the doctor smiled tiredly at them. "He's doing very well, all things considered."

"Thank you, Doctor..." Holly trailed off, prompting him.

"Doctor Mattson. Good night, both of you." He gave them each a handshake before going off to his own office, maybe to make notes to the file or to review it for the next day's work. Gently, Sam turned the handle, peering into the dimly lit room. He inhaled sharply, but determinedly strode in. Drawing her courage from him, Holly followed.

Steve, now worked on and bandaged up, was asleep, his IV dripping along and the monitors still hooked up to him. The only difference between this moment and when she saw him previously was that he was somewhat cleaned up. And in a hospital gown. His blonde hair was matted down a bit, whether from grease or from a recent wash, she wasn't sure. He looked a mess, stitches and red patches on his skin. It honestly looked like he'd been to hell and back, and she wasn't expecting anything less.

It still didn't make it easy to see him like that, though. She stood just inside the door, silent, staring as the minutes passed. Sam did much of the same thing, save that he found a chair to sit in. They watched him breathe, the rise and fall of his chest reassuring them both.

"Thank you. For saving him."

She shifted her stance, taking a half-step backwards. "I didn't do anything. Just used my cell phone, like anyone else."

"You could have panicked and run," he pointed out. "You could have bolted when the trouble started, but you didn't."

Guiltily, she looked to the ground. She had wanted to do that. "I...couldn't just leave him there."

Sam nodded, reclining in his chair. "I'm glad you didn't."

A soft tapping came at the door, before it was cracked open and a nurse poked her head in. "He'll be available for normal visiting hours tomorrow, but for now, it's time to go."

Holly waited for Sam to get up from his seat, watching as he laid a hand on Steve's ankle, trying to give him the illusion of privacy as he said good-bye. Once he'd said his piece, he maneuvered around the edge of the bed back towards the door. He held it open for Holly to pass through, but she held up a pausing finger. She just needed a minute. Gingerly, she stepped forward, laying a hand on his like before.

"I'll be back. I promise."

It seemed that he couldn't hear her this time, be it the drugs or if he was deeply asleep on his own, but she didn't mind. He'd made it through treatment, but she just wanted to see him get better, to wake up. Patting his fingers one more time, she turned and left the room. As she and Sam made their way side-by-side to the front, she took her phone out of her pocket and started tapping the screen. Pulling up a new contact page, she passed the device off to her new acquaintance.

"Can I have your number? Just to keep in touch?" It wasn't a light thing to ask for, especially since she and Sam were nearly perfect strangers, but it didn't hurt to ask. "I, I would like to hear about it if he wakes up and you're here for it."

Sam half-grinned as he punched in the numbers, handing it back from her when he was done. He removed his phone from his pocket, copying her motions from before and obliging her to do the same for him. "Yeah, I can do that."

As they crossed the threshold into the evening air, another thought came to Holly, and she groaned. "Could I possibly ask you for another favor, Sam?"

His expression was bemused, then quizzical. "Maybe."

She felt herself shrink in his gaze, embarrassed. "Can I get a ride back to the park? I need to get my car."

Without saying yes or no, he strode towards a black SUV, motioning with one hand for her to come along. "You're the last person I'm doing this for; I don't want anything to happen to the rental."

* * *

**A/N:** Well, now Holly's met Natasha and Sam...which is interesting, in any aspect. And I do know that hospitals have visiting policies that allow visitors until 9 PM (or so), but doctors have a little leeway there regarding their patient's recovery, so...yeah, they go kicked out a little early. But at least they saw him.

Soon, Holly and Steve will properly meet. Very soon...


	3. Chapter 3

After an onslaught of nightmares, Holly was actually relieved when her alarm clock went off the next morning. There wasn't much that she could remember from the dreams, other than fiery wrecks falling from the sky and her being trapped within them as water rushed in to drown her. The events of the previous day had certainly left their mark, most likely a permanent one. The droning _beep-beep-beep_ elicited a groan of satisfaction from her, since she could finally leave her bed and dreams behind.

Getting up, she rolled her shoulders, loosening them. She stretched her legs as well, feeling the pull and rolling her eyes at herself; she must have curled up too tightly in an effort to comfort herself. Taking the elastic band out of her hair, she shook her short ponytail out and combed through the brown strands with her fingers. It tickled the tops of her shoulders, irritating her.

_'Time to get a haircut,'_ she thought sourly, rubbing the last bits of sleep from her eyes. On the positive side, her hand wasn't hurting as much. Wandering to the bathroom, Holly's eyes flicked over the hamper, her clothes from yesterday dropped haphazardly by it. She had at least managed to put stain remover on the knees of her jeans before leaving them for the night.

She had returned around eight o'clock, but it felt like one or two in the morning. She hadn't physically exhausted herself, but she was mentally tired. Forcing herself to stay up for at least another hour, she changed into her pajamas, grabbed a snack, and then promptly fell asleep as the news broadcast droned on about SHIELD and its involvement with the disaster on the Potomac. At some point in the night she'd shut off the television and ambled to the bedroom, half-conscious and unable to keep up any longer.

After going through her morning ablutions and dressing, she switched the television back on, wanting the background noise as she shuffled through the cupboards from some breakfast. It was some cartoon, she recognized the intro music, but she didn't pay attention to that. Instead, she actively checked her phone as she grabbed a granola bar from the second shelf and then poured herself a glass of orange juice.

No new text messages, no new voice messages, though Facebook would reveal her friends' continued existences and varied opinions of yesterday's events. One email from her boss Carl, asking her to check stock and order more when she came in. The part-timers would have the day off, and it would only be a half day for her and him. The disaster and all that, he explained. Holly sighed, agreeing silently to the proposed plan, but was otherwise disappointed.

She had hoped that Sam would have some good news for her regarding Steve. Instead, she settled for texting him herself, greeting him and telling him to update her if anything happened. Perhaps later in the day she would swing by the hospital, check in there. She gnawed on the granola bar, managing to finish it and her juice before heading out the door. Her phone beeped at her, with Sam's reply being that he would let her know anything new. With that, she set the cell on vibrate and got in the car. The drive to work took longer than usual, as people were clogging up the streets trying to get over to either the crash site or the hospitals to see their injured loved ones. Holly tried to push away the sight of haunted eyes, tried to pretend that it was just another day, if only to get through the shortened shift.

The bookstore was not part of a chain; it was a local shop that had been running for the last twenty years. It occupied the first two floors of what was once an old boarding house, with the third floor being an apartment for Carl and his family. On the first floor, the back corner was dedicated for the use of children, with drawing tables and a story hour hosted every Thursday. Nonfiction books resided on the rest of the first floor shelves, while fiction took up the entire second floor. The stock was a mix of classics and new bestsellers, and sometimes a hidden gem or two. Holly had been there since she first moved out to D.C., attempting to forge a new life for herself amongst the things that made her feel most at home: books. Stories comforted her in a way that nothing else had, and helped her picture worlds of fantastic beings and unimaginable things.

She had never thought real life would get to be as outlandish as the books she read and sold. But that was before yesterday.

Carl, choosing to work the register for the few customers that did come in, had the radio switched to the news. It was busily reporting the status of the carriers and SHIELD, revealing a plot potentially laid down by a secret organization within the organization, and what kind of impact a full-scale investigation would have upon the members of said organization. Not terribly new ground, as the anchors on the local station speculated about many of the same things the night before. Holly was in the back, filtering through identifications numbers and locating copies to refill the shelves, when something different caught her attention.

"...And sources have indicated that Captain America was, if not the direct cause of the multiple crashes, at least involved."

A recording came onto the airwaves, supplied by insiders at SHIELD. It was the captain's voice, Steve's voice, as he denounced the enemy organization, HYDRA, and its leader, and his intention to set things right. The baritone was solid, commanding, as he went on, professing his faith in people making the right choice to stand against them, and their willingness to meet the danger head-on.

Holly shivered; having never heard Steve talk before, she found hearing his speech to be unnerving. His voice itself wasn't unpleasant, but the tenor of what he spoke of was. Especially at the implication that many innocent people would have died on the commands of those machines. That was a terrifying thought. She had been a witness to everything over the Potomac, and she understood that Steve had risked his life, but the magnitude of the deception and the truth beneath it all was stunning.

A surge of anxiety raced in her veins, then. Just what else had the reporters picked up on? She had noticed a few helicopters the day before, but when the explosions started and the carriers began to crash, they hightailed it out of there. And afterward, she couldn't recall, as she was too busy trying not to freak out. Hiding out in the hospital had apparently been a good idea, then. It still made her nervous, as she did not want to be found by the media. For a minute, her mind filled with images of cameras and microphones being thrust into her face, demanding who she was, where she was from, how on Earth did she manage to find _the_ Captain America, and what was her take on the entire debacle within one of the government's most screwed-up enterprises?

So far, Holly Martin was an anonymous entity, and she wanted to remain so. Pivoting on her heel, she dove back into storage, breathing slowly to calm herself as she scanned her list once more. The hours ticked by, and at around two in the afternoon, Carl dismissed her.

"Jenna's coming home tonight?" Holly asked, gathering her purse and jacket. Carl nodded, half smiling; his eldest daughter was a medical student at the college across town, living separately from the rest of the family now.

"Yeah. The hospital doesn't have her scheduled for training rounds, so she'll be able to spend the night."

Holly grimaced, feeling bad for not being more concerned with her boss's family earlier. Jenna had to have spent her evening with any overflow patients from the crash site. She had to be dead on her feet.

"Well, that's good, at least," she responded, for a lack of anything better to say. She felt her purse vibrate, her cell phone receiving a message, but she waited until she was out the door and wished Carl a good rest of the day before pouncing on it. The new text notification caught her eye, and she eagerly opened it.

_**He just woke up.**_

Her heart pounded, and her free hand found its way to her mouth, covering her great groan of relief. But before she could send a message back, Sam had sent another.

_**He's asking questions about what happened.**_

A feeling of dread compounded her relief. She blindly found her way to her car, locking herself in but continuing to stare at the phone. Her fingers flew over the digital keyboard to respond before Sam said more.

_I'm glad he's awake. What have you told him?_

_**A little of everything, mostly about what happened with Nat and me.**_

She frowned, wondering at what lengths they went to. Far enough for physical injury, she knew that much, but Sam hadn't exactly shared with her yesterday. Perhaps she could try and inquire again?

_Which you probably can't talk about via text, right?_

_**Exactly right.**_

It was worth a shot, but she knew he would as likely give her a straight answer as he would've last night.

_**I told him about you.**_

That message caused the butterflies to come alive in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly, Holly wasn't so sure about the whole "sticking by Steve" plan. What if he was disgusted to have been at the mercy of some random woman? What if he was embarrassed? Still, she couldn't escape the situation now.

_How much?_

_**Just what you told me. He knows I'm texting you right now.**_

Summoning her courage, she made herself type one more question.

_Does he want to meet me, ask me any questions directly?_

A long pause followed, one that was long enough to make her shrug her shoulders against the perceived rejection. Steve was embarrassed, or at least had no interest in meeting a stranger. Perhaps Natasha would just give him the information he wanted about what happened to him, without including her. A part of her was sullen at the knowledge, but maybe this was the most that could be offered to her. She could go on with her life, knowing she had done what she could and Steve had survived. Maybe that would be it, and she would be content with that.

_**He says tomorrow would be best. He's certain he'll feel better and up for another visitor then.**_

Holly let out the breath she'd been holding, part of her glad to be able to see Steve conscious and on the mend, even if it had be the next day.

_I can do that. I can come by tomorrow afternoon, around 3._

It would take some finagling, but she reckoned that she could get away with doing errands for the store and still be able to leave by then. (Plus, going in early would help soften the blow to the part-timers who would have to close.) With a solid plan set, she was able to finally start her car and head out. The only problem was finding something to do with her time. She had no family who lived in the D.C. area, and the rest of her friends were either working a full day or leaving to see their families.

An idea struck her, and instead of pulling out right to go home, she crossed over to the left lane, weaving into traffic yet again.

**xXxXxXx**

The Smithsonian Institution had had an exhibit set up about Captain America for about a year now, around the time when he (evidently) took up residence in the city. And while it was said to be an interesting experience for museum goers, it hadn't struck Holly's fancy at the time. She been to the Smithsonian once when she first moved out east, doing a circuit of the landmarks and museums as any respectable out-of-towner would. But she hadn't been back, though. She didn't have a reason to.

The exhibit was tucked into its own gallery, halfway towards the back. After paying her museum fare, Holly brushed by the other sights, encountering a crush as she crossed the threshold into the main exhibit room. It was strange. Really cool, but ultimately strange.

It was a comprehensive immersion, a side of World War II that Holly had never considered. Her great-grandfather and a great uncle had served in the war, and of course there were the obligatory class units in school dedicated to the subject, but this was a facet that was never really covered in any class. The display of Project: Rebirth's effect on Steve's body and even his life was a shock. He was over ninety years old, chronologically, even though he physically didn't look a day over twenty-five. The mounted buttons would pump out a smooth narrator's voice, detailing how he had been rejected several times over by the army before being chosen for the project. At the end of one set of mounted displays, she could see some kids measuring themselves against cutouts of Steve pre- and post-operation. Indulging herself, she found that she was taller than Original Steve (as she called him in her mind) by about three inches.

_'It has to be weird, and sad,' _she thought to herself as she strolled past the Howling Commandos uniform display, _'to have your entire life out in the open for anyone to indulge in it. God, let's hope Steve has never been here.'_

Guilt set in, and she solemnly swore she would not bring the exhibit up. She actually took a few steps towards the exit, thinking it may be best to just leave, but she couldn't force herself to go. The curiosity was too strong, and she didn't want to go into the hospital the next day, struggling to connect with a famous hero as an ignorant civilian. She wanted to know something about him, to get an idea of what shaped the man she had called for help for. The flow of the crowds pushed her deeper into the exhibit, and she did not have the will to fight it.

The old motorcycle was pretty neat to look at, despite the fact that she'd never been interested in vehicles. When she reached the area set aside for James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes, she had to wait for a hoodie-wearing guy with a ball cap and dirty jeans to move on, actually causing her to revisit a couple displays in the interim before he finally moved off and freed up the space.

Something about Bucky's face in the pictures looked familiar, the eyes especially, but for the life of her Holly couldn't think to place him. Maybe she'd seen his face in a textbook back in grade school, or probably during a group project. She brushed it off, too busy reading about the single friend that Steve had from childhood who followed him into war.

The only one lost overseas, the narrator had murmured, her finger lingering on the button as she listened. The only one not to return home. That struck her as devastating; she couldn't imagine losing her best friend in such a manner. It would break her heart, probably scar her for life. Poor Bucky. Poor Steve.

There was an option to sit in on a movie in the projection room, but Holly had had enough for one day. Pulling away from the crowd, she took light steps towards the back exit. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, alerting her. She could feel that someone was watching her, and she was fairly certain it wasn't either of the guards posted at the arched exit. Glancing around, she spotted the hooded guy from before, resting stiffly against a wall. His head was turned towards her, but the bill of the cap was pulled low over his face, and he didn't move from his spot.

_'Just some creep,' _she mused, hunching her shoulders and slinking out of the building as quickly as she could. As she clambered out into the parking garage and located her car, she kept looking behind and in front of her, reasoning that she wasn't being followed, and there was no need to panic. When she got to her car, the stranger from the day before popped into her mind. Maybe he'd followed her, set himself up with a disguise to see if she'd done as she was told. Violently, she shook her head, throwing the thought away. It couldn't have been him.

'_It wasn't him. You're just w__orking yourself up into a panic for nothing,' _she chided herself, jamming the keys into the ignition and pulling out hard from the space. _'There's no reason to be afraid.'_

But the image of him circled through her brain as she jumped onto the roads, and wouldn't leave her alone for the next few hours of the evening.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope the texting bits weren't too confusing for anyone.

Yes, we all know who the guy in the hoodie is (it never specified when he was there, did it?). And no, Holly hasn't made the connection yet for Bucky and the Winter Soldier. Unlike Steve, she doesn't have a long history with the guy and probably wouldn't recognize him right off the bat as Bucky. Plus, she was only in the Winter Soldier's company for a few moments; she most likely couldn't make a connection if she wasn't forcing her brain to work for one. It's there, though; she just hasn't arrived at the conclusion yet.

Sorry if this was a lot of filler and boring for you all. I said Holly and Steve would meet soon, but I didn't promise that it would happen this chapter. However, you all know where the next one will be leading...so, thanks for reading, please review, and I will see you later!


	4. Chapter 4

Pulling into a spot in the visitors' lot a little after three o'clock, Holly put the car in park and cut the engine, resting her forearms and head on the wheel for a moment. Traffic from the bookstore to the hospital had been a downright nightmare, as she had been caught in the beginnings of rush hour, not to mention she'd been stuck behind a particularly slow Cadillac driver on the last leg of the journey. She'd definitely lost her temper and then some, and was swearing out loud as she feared being late to her promised meeting. She hated being late. Drawing in a few deep breaths, she didn't raise her head until she felt herself calm down.

At least the dissipating road rage had subdued the nervousness somewhat.

When she woke that morning, she felt the knots tying in her stomach as she thought about actually meeting Steve face-to-conscious-face. It was one thing to interact with an unconscious man, quite another to actually speak with him. Especially when he was supposed to be this great, big, all-American super soldier, and she was just...herself. That was intimidating, no matter how many times she told herself he was just another human being. It motivated her to be a little pickier with her dressing and her appearance that morning. The end result of a blue sweater, dark jeans, and flats finally met with her approval, but she was almost late to work because of it.

Checking her face in the visor mirror, she noted her brown eyes looked a little bloodshot, but not terribly so. Her hair had fluffed up during work, too. She'd left it to air dry, in the hopes that the humidity wouldn't be high enough to affect it as she went about her day; evidently she was wrong. Holly had spent her time running to the office supply store and the grocery store, restocking the depleted stock for the staff. She also had to make phone calls to the book suppliers to inquire after a shipment that had not arrived yet, a frustrating call that had her raking her hand over her head in muted rage when she was told that the delay would be another two days. She must have looked like a descendant of a cotton ball when she joined Alex, one of the part-time people, in the front until it was time for her to take off. He'd certainly given her a funny look as she walked around (not that he had room to do so, in her opinion; his fauxhawk was getting long again and had started drooping to the left).

_'Pony tail it is, then,'_ she thought, pulling the hair binder from her wrist, a habit she'd developed in high school. She combed through it with her fingers a few times before tying it back, taming it as best she could. _'Wavy hair sucks sometimes.'_

Content that she was presentable, she grabbed her clutch from the passenger seat and got out of the car. Each step that brought her closer to the hospital made the butterflies in her stomach flutter. There was no reason to be nervous, she tried telling herself yet again, it would be fine. Tugging on the end of her sleeve, she found an orderly at the lobby desk and asked him directions to Steve's room (she could remember traveling the path, but she did not mark the other rooms to gauge where she was). After giving her name, and explaining that she was a friend, the orderly made a quick phone call back.

"We have to check, see if you're approved to see him," she was told as he grabbed the receiver. She frowned as he dialed numbers. It was obvious she wasn't a reporter, or some deranged fan, or anything like that. In fact, she was pretty sure that Captain America's hospital stay was still firmly under wraps from the media. It was an incredible notion, but she hadn't seen or heard any evidence to the contrary as of yet. If anything, people seemed to think he was off gallivanting elsewhere now that the helicarriers were destroyed.

"But I was the one who basically got him here," she muttered under her breath, waiting for him to finish. After some minor back and forth with the person on the other end of the line, he hung up after a couple minutes and stood.

"Follow me."

Trailing after him, the path through the hallways started to become familiar, and she was confident that next time (if there was a next time) she could make her way there without incident. Both of Holly's hands gripped her clutch tightly, an effort to stop them from fiddling nervously as she walked. As they rounded a corner, she drew in a sharp breath.

There were guards posted at both ends of the hall, and another one was stationed just beyond Steve's door. And each one of them had what looked like machine guns. Whether they were military or CIA, or even if they from the now-defunct SHIELD, she had no clue. All she knew was that she had grossly underestimated the situation in thinking that there was no harm in him being here.

_'Of course. If he's being kept here secretly, whatever's protecting him would protect him thoroughly. Idiot,'_ she chided herself, subconsciously straightening her back and looking anywhere but at the guards. She didn't want to give them any excuse to think her suspicious and have her escorted out in whatever way they deemed fit. The orderly motioned for her to stop, striding forward to speak with the guard ahead in hushed tones. After the two exchanged glances and sized her up, they motioned for her to proceed. Their radio systems seemed to come alive as she walked by, crackling and indicating that she had entered the hall, and that she was not a threat.

Stopping in front of the door, she reached for the knob before remembering her manners. Withdrawing her hand, she gently reached up instead to knock. The shut blinds on the inside wiggled slightly, pulling off the sides briefly and allowing only a peek of the foot of the hospital bed. Her eyes dropped to the ground, staring at her feet as she waited for an affirmative.

"Come in," Sam's voice filtered through the door, causing her to sigh in relief. Thank goodness, someone she knew was in there, too. Turning the door handle, she heard a quiet melody as she came into the room. Looking up, she'd intended on locating the source of the music, spotting an iPod plugged into speakers on a rolling tray in the corner of the room. Sam stepped in front of her then, offering his hand for her to shake. He looked a little better after two days, the cuts on his face well on their way to healing. "Good to see you, Holly."

"Yeah, good to see you, too, Sam," she responded, trying to discreetly look around him. He blocked her view of the rest of the room, and consequently of Steve. "You look better."

Understanding what she was doing immediately, he chuckled. Maneuvering around her, he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the hallway.

"Thanks. Well, I'll be around in case either of you need me," he said, going out the door. Holly turned to watch him go, squelching a renegade impulse to beg him to stay. Instead she nodded at his retreating back, the door obscuring him as it shut behind him. Inhaling deeply, she took her eyes off the door, and faced the interior of the room once again.

Steve was sitting up, the bed inclined to help him. Many of the tubes and wires had been removed. He was still hooked up to a heart monitor, which was chirping softly, and the IV. The unfortunate hospital gown was still swathed around his body, the short sleeves not hiding his bruised arms. His hands were settled in his blanketed lap, with what looked like a newspaper folded beneath them. His bright blue eyes stared right back at her, examining her as well. What struck her the most was, despite the cuts and stitches along his jaw, and the nasty bruise over his right eye, he looked good.

Part of her had been repressing the fact that he was an attractive fellow, as it was not appropriate at any point in the last two days to dwell on it. Now, it was resurfacing at the absolute wrong moment. Especially when an uncomfortable silence had stretched on for far too long. As she was preparing to say something, anything, Steve broke the ice himself.

"So, you're Holly Martin."

His voice sounded a lot nicer in person, she absently noted. Nodding, she took a few steps forward and offered a tentative grin. "Yeah. Hi."

"Hi." He motioned to the visitor chair that Sam had left by the side of the bed. "Have a seat. No need to stand on my account."

Dropping into the chair, she tapped a finger against her clutch, scanning his face once more. "You look better, Steve. Or, Captain, whatever you'd prefer."

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Steve is just fine."

"Okay, then." She glanced away, looking around at the flowers and get-well cards that were placed along the back wall on another tray. Feeling a little stupid, she proceeded to unzip the clutch and withdrew the Hershey bar she had in there. She didn't want to show up empty-handed, and had picked it up while running errands. "It's no fancy arrangement, but still, it's got to taste better than the food here. Get well soon, Steve."

She handed it off to him then, grateful he didn't just toss it away. In fact, he looked a little surprised, like he hadn't expected her to even do something like that for him.

"Thank you."

"No problem," she replied, feeling at a loss. "So...looks notwithstanding, how are you feeling?"

"Mostly sore, kind of like I was tossed around in the dryer."

Her eyebrows twitched together, thinking back on the carriers. "Pretty big dryer, I'd say."

He grinned, but his eyes turned gloomy, focusing on his covered feet. "Definitely."

Hesitating, she allowed the music to play through before speaking again. She knew that she wasn't here simply for a visit, and she preferred to get everything out in the open. "Look, I don't know exactly how much Sam told you, or if Natasha said anything-"

His sharp glance cut back to her then, but she kept talking.

"-But if you need me to, I don't know, fill in any gaps that they couldn't, I will. As best I can, anyway."

Slowly, Steve nodded, turning over the questions in his mind swiftly. "They told me most of what happened. I know there was a...a guy, who pointed me out to you."

"Yes," she murmured, mentally preparing to recall as much as she could.

"You're absolutely certain it was a dark-haired man with a metal arm?"

She smirked, shrugging her shoulders. "I know, it sounds ridiculous, but yeah, I'm positive."

Steve snorted, though his demeanor had turned thoughtful. "Not all that ridiculous, I can promise you that."

Given what the man had lived through, and no doubt had seen, Holly couldn't deny the truth in Steve's words.

"Did he threaten you, in any way?"

She blinked, her expression perplexed. He was concerned that _she _could have been hurt? "No. Not really."

Off his raised eyebrow, she hastened to explain, "I mean, he didn't say anything to me, but he looked a little scary. I didn't want to provoke him."

Steve interjected, "So no physical confrontation, either?"

Holly shook her head. "No, definitely not. I'm pretty sure he just wanted to get out of there."

He leaned back into the pillows behind him then, digesting what she had told him. His jaw tightened as he thought hard, drawing conclusions to events and things she had no understanding of. And due to her experience with Sam, brief though it may have been, she knew better than to ask. Long minutes stretched, with the tunes flowing on. Unknowingly, she began rubbing at her shoulder with her free hand, working out a stress knot and wincing from the pain.

"What happened to your hand?"

She froze, her ministrations paused. Holding it out in front of her, she could see the faint purple outlines of fingertips along the side of her hand. Oh, boy. Well, that explained why she couldn't rest her hand on the counters at work today; it was stinging from the bruises. She'd ignored it at the time, just chalking it up to sensitive skin or nerves. It wasn't the worst pain in the world, and odds were that they would disappear in a few days. The trouble was explaining what happened to the one who caused the bruises.

Not knowing what spin to put on it, she decided to be honest. "When the doctors told me to leave so they could take care of you, you...wouldn't let me."

Steve's eyes widened. "What?"

"When I was waiting for the ambulance to come get you, I wanted you to know it was going to be okay, just in case you woke up or something," she stated with embarrassed amusement. "So I...held your hand. And then you kept holding on, up until we got here. Made me promise I wouldn't go anywhere before you'd let me go."

His skin flushed, his face turning slightly pink. "I...I'm sorry. I had no idea..."

She waved it off, glossing over the awkwardness with a half smile. "Don't be. Seriously, I'm fine."

She held eye contact with him until her returned the gesture, nodding that he accepted her word.

A knock came at the door, and a helmeted head poked in at that moment. "The nurse is saying five more minutes, sir."

Steve, turning his attention to the guard, dipped his chin and indicated for him to leave. Holly wished she had a reason to object, to stay, but she knew that it would only cause problems for her to do so. Besides, whether he wanted to or not, Steve was beginning to look tired. For being a super soldier, he was taking his time recovering from the past few days.

Holly didn't want to make things worse for him.

Tilting her head to the left, she let out a weary sigh. "I suppose that's my cue to leave, then."

He nodded, but he did not seemed to be pleased. Probably because he was the one would be stuck there, being examined by the nurses yet again. "I suppose."

As she rose from her seat, Steve struggled to sit up straighter, as far as he could without assistance. Holly dropped her clutch, impulsively leaning forward to help. Planting one hand behind his back to steady him, she gave him the other (the uninjured one) to lever himself up. When he'd managed to reach his goal, he squeezed her fingers as gently as he could, not wanting to hurt her again.

"Thank you, ma'am. For everything."

Her throat went dry, her shoes becoming a fascinating sight at that moment. A hero, a _superhero,_ had thanked her for her help. Like she had done something extraordinary, like it wasn't something anyone else could have done. Her voice came out in the barest whisper.

"You're welcome."

Backing away, she glanced at the array of flowers arrangements once more, registering how few of them there were. Granted, his condition was being kept from the public, but the friends who did know did not number many. Her heart twisted at that, thinking how lonely he must be.

"Look, there's no reason for you to agree to this, and don't feel obligated to do so, but...I mean, being in the hospital sucks," she rambled, pushing back the part of her that was screaming for her to shut up, "and I know it's not fun to be here by yourself, so if...if you want some company, other than Sam, I mean...well, I'm around."

Feeling like she couldn't have sounded dumber, she chanced a glance his way. Looking him full in the face, she saw that Steve's expression had become stoic and even. Maybe it was a mistake to even suggest coming back. But then she looked him in the eye. His gaze was bright with amusement, and hope.

"I can't think of a reason to say no, Miss Martin."

* * *

**A/N:** If the character description for Holly was excessive, I am sorry about that. Writing just happens the way it happens, I guess.

So yeah, Holly and Steve finally meet. About time, right? Right. Things are a little awkward right now, but hopefully it won't be as bad in the future. :)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	5. Chapter 5

"You calling or folding, Rogers?"

Steve glanced up from his hand, narrowing his eyes at his opponent. "Give me a minute."

"You've had five."

A smirk tugged at his mouth. "Feeling nervous?"

Holly just shook her head, not taking her gaze off her cards. "Just impatient."

She had made good on her offer to visit whenever Steve wanted the company. As soon as she'd left after the first meeting, he procured permission for her to come back. It was, indeed, a pain and a bore for him to be trapped in the same room for days on end. Supplying him with her phone number, Holly told him to give her a call when he felt up for it. A day and a half later, he had left her a message while at work, politely inquiring if she would be available for the evening, because daytime television certainly had lost its appeal. A little after six o'clock, she showed up with some take-out and some books borrowed from her personal library (they'd been living in the backseat of her car for several months, just in case she was stranded bored somewhere).

"Just in case you wanted something to break up the monotony. No Jane Austen, I promise," she had told him, handing over the novels.

He'd blinked, turning over the books: _The Count of Monte Cristo _and _The Lord of the Rings, _the first of the trilogy_. _He had a brush with Dumas in the past, not really getting too into the book. Mr Tolkien was an author that he had just managed to miss, since his stories were published just after his disappearance. For what he understood of both, they weren't bad choices. He'd have something to do when neither she nor Sam could be there, at least. "So no, um, e-reader for you, then?"

She'd shrugged. "I like actually holding a physical copy in my hands. Besides, you're probably sick of being surrounded by the electronic stuff."

The look Steve shot at the heart monitor spoke volumes. The iPod and cell phone in the corner were not glared at so harshly, but the principle still stood. He set the books to one side with a decisive thud, knocking over some newspapers and napkins as he did so. Holly tidied them without a sound, but a half-hidden grin displayed her amusement at being right. Grabbing a container, she pulled out some chopsticks and a fork. Handing him the western utensil, she proceeded to open one of the containers and proffered it to him.

"Dumplings?"

Steve's mouth watered. Hospital food was better than the rations he'd gotten back in the war, but it still was hospital fare. The candy bar Holly had given him had long since been devoured as a result of the food quality. "...Yes."

Over the shared containers, they talked. She shared with him about work, about the late arrival of a popular teen novel and her relief to find that the prepubescent masses wouldn't descend upon the bookstore. He in turn told her about the guard rotation, and the positive prognosis the doctors had given him. From there it would drift, to movies she'd seen or to her family back home, to the horrible television he'd been subjected to and his and Sam's conspiring to subvert the staff whenever he was allowed to leave the room. Both seemed to have tacitly agreed that rehashing the crashes was of no use; CNN's broadcast and the resulting local stations' coverage was enough. She'd offered tidbits of her life, and he gave her a synopsis of his, omitting the events of the last week.

Of course, she had her own life, friends and work that were part of her time. A Sarah figured most prominently in her conversations, a girl around the same age and more than willing to be Holly's compatriot in most endeavors. She still found time to come around and see him when she wasn't busy with one or another. It was the start of a tentative friendship; one that maneuvered past the reputation built around him and defied her expectations of his character.

(Steve hinted, discreetly of course, that he was well aware of his public profile on the internet and wouldn't condemn her for looking it up if she had. Holly had flushed red at that, admitting nothing and pointedly shoving food into her mouth. He laughed to himself when she obviously changed the subject.)

Right now, over a week from the initial meeting, their collective attention was turned to their card game. Holly fought to keep her face still, determined to not give away her tell. When she'd proposed a game of cards, she hadn't expected Steve to take her up on the suggestion of poker (he struck her more as a cribbage guy). Board games had been an option over the last few days, but in her experience she found those best played with more than two people being able to participate. And here she was, stuck playing a game she was not especially talented at and watching her winnings dwindle away. Granted, they weren't playing for money; there wasn't enough loose change in her purse to use as such. Their chips were a divvied-up family size bag of M&amp;M's. But she had lost more often than she had won, and she was getting increasingly competitive over the lost chocolate. The fact that she had a full house just upped the ante.

'_Come on, come on,'_ her brain yelled, willing him to quit drawing out the suspense. Finally, he tapped the rolling tray lightly.

"Call," he said, indicating for her to show first.

"Full house," she announced, pleased with her luck. Her smug smile as she put down the cards face up did not last long, once Steve revealed his hand. "Oh, come on!"

"Four of a kind," he murmured, sweeping up his winnings to his side of the tray. She groaned loudly, leaning back in her chair and letting her head loll back. Innocuously, he asked, "Another hand?"

Her head popped back up, her eyes scrutinizing him. "I should say no…but fine. You deal, but I'm watching you."

Her wagging finger was supposed to be a warning, but he just raised an eyebrow at it as he shuffled the deck. "You can't be worried I'll stack the deck against you. Not me."

"Oh, please," she snorted, rolling her eyes at his innocent expression. "Out of the two of us, who would be the most likely to do something sneaky?"

They looked at each other, both of them startled at her not-so-subtle jab at his exploits with SHIELD over the past year. For a moment, Holly wondered if she had crossed a line and should apologize. To her relief, Steve started to chuckle instead of taking offense.

"You suggested the game, I can't be held accountable for your skill, or lack of it."

A gasp of surprised laughter shot out of her mouth, her hand automatically accepting her five cards. "Excuse me, then."

Companionable silence fell as they examined their hands and put in their opening amounts. Holly chewed her lip thoughtfully, turning over two of her cards for new ones. Glancing at his face, she noted that the shiner on his eye was much more subdued, and the cuts along his jaw were scabbing over.

"So, have the doctors said when they might let you go?"

Steve sighed, discarding three from his hand. "In a few days, they told me. Not soon enough, in my opinion."

She smiled, genuinely smiled. "That's still good news."

He shrugged, pushing in a few candies and otherwise not looking at her. "Yes, I suppose."

She mimicked his actions, puzzled as to his unenthusiastic comment. Thinking about it, she tossed a couple more out. "Raise. Do you not want to leave? You have contradicted yourself in the space of two sentences."

"I'm ready to leave, believe me. It's more of the thought of...after, that's of concern."

That caught her attention. Folding her hand in her lap, she looked him in the eye. "After?"

This time he followed her lead, their game abandoned temporarily. "After SHIELD, what comes after that."

Nodding, she considered his anxieties. He had been serving for some government organization or another for a long time now. One could argue about the seventy years he'd disappeared for as a hiatus, but considering that he'd viewed it as "sleeping", the contention would be brushed aside. The point was, now he had no hierarchy to serve and no cause to pursue. The life he'd known, the world he grew up in, was gone and replaced with this present that seemed like a futuristic dream more often than not. He'd been in it for a few years now, but by all accounts he'd only embraced it so he could function and do his job. What kind of life would he have now? She knew she'd be troubled by it, were she in his position. Dropping her gaze back to her folded cards, Holly searched for the right response. What she came up with was something of a cliché, but it still held true.

"It'll work itself out. You'll see." She missed the doubtful expression on Steve's face, directing her attention to the day's newspaper and some napkins on the bedside table. Picking them up with her free hand, she noticed that they were littered along the bank spaces with detailed sketches. There were a few faces, landmarks, a sunrise cresting a treed hilltop. They were really good, even for being squeezed into the limits of margins. She'd never been great at drawing, and honestly envied anyone who could create such wonderful pictures and sights.

It also gave her some insight into Steve himself. These were impressions of his mind left upon paper, an outlet for creativity that had to be stifled, no doubt, when he had very important missions to carry out and plans to fulfill. It would be a shame to see that get set by the wayside, in case something else popped up after the whole SHIELD fiasco.

Pointing out the doodles he'd made, continuing, "Maybe you could do something with that. Drawing, I mean. You're really good."

This time, she caught Steve's amused look, his grin tight. "Perhaps. I could pick that up again. It depends."

"On what?"

His eyes became distant. "On other things I have to take care of first."

Her gaze narrowed, curious. That could mean something very good or very bad, but her money was on the latter, so to speak. "Other things."

"Yes." His cards were retrieved, and he studied them with great interest. She wasn't about to be put off, but before she could utter a word, he cut her off. "Before you ask, it's potentially dangerous and risky to even pursue them. Discussing it openly is not an option."

Holly breathed hard through her nose. It shouldn't have surprised her at all that he'd surmised her intentions to question him. Nothing she could do about it, now. "...Okay, fair enough."

They took a moment to get back into the game, their heads bent over the tray. After a few rounds of raising the stakes, the game was called and Holly had, happily enough, won the round. Sweeping up her winnings, she spoke up again.

"Just do me a favor, will you? If at any point these 'other things' threaten my life, please let me know. I'd appreciate it."

Steve allowed himself a humorless smirk. "I'll do my best."

**xXxXxXx**

True to their word, the doctors had allowed the release of Steve Rogers, Captain America, from hospital care after nearly three weeks. It was deemed that the rest of his recovery could take place outside the vicinity's walls, as his sprains had healed and the rest of his body on the mend. With his apartment sealed off for investigation (and thus terminating his lease), he had made alternate plans to reside with Sam. It was just as well; he'd never really had any memories, good or bad, of the place and had no desire to resume living there. Earlier in the week, Sam had been allowed access to gather clothes for him and any personal items not being examined, and they were waiting in his spare bedroom. And so with little fanfare, Steve found himself being piled into a wheelchair and rolled to the front door, a small duffel bag in his lap. This was met with opposition on his part, but Sam persuaded him to go along with it.

"It protects the hospital from liability if you were to injure yourself on the way out. Keeping you here longer is not what they want," he said in a low voice, pushing the sour-faced captain down the hall. The guards who had been watching over him over the last few weeks had vanished from the building, in order not to panic anyone or give them any unwanted attention.

"I feel like an invalid," Steve grumbled. "I haven't felt like that in over eighty years."

"You really don't like hospitals, do you?" Sam asked him, raising his eyebrows. By all accounts, Steve had been a good patient, not really trying the staff's nerves and doing as he was directed to by doctors. But Sam would have to have been blind not to notice his impatience with being cooped up there, and his irritation with being forced to put up with it.

"I was a ninety-pound asthmatic who occasionally got into fights. Where do you think I ended up, more often than not?" Steve pointed out, rolling his eyes as the memories of childhood came flooding back. "I've seen far too much of them, that's all."

"Well, stay in the chair until we're out of the lobby, and this should be the last one you see for awhile," his companion retorted. "Hopefully. Unless you plan on getting into another fight."

The captain glanced over his shoulder, sharing a long look with his friend. It was discussed, between them and Natasha, to dig up whatever they could find on Bucky. Steve's intentions upon finding the information, if there was any to be found, remained to be seen. Natasha was seeing to the actual digging, calling in favors where she could from her fellow agents, if they were still good. It could take weeks, though. The collapse of SHIELD meant a collapse of everything within its infrastructure, and any information could be lost, out of their grasp.

For now, he had to settle with waiting. And watching, just in case his would-be best friend reappeared in the interim.

The events following the moment he was wheeled over the threshold of the hospital were a blur. He could only remember the relief of being outside, of being able to breathe fresh air, and the twinges of residual pain as he was situated in the SUV that Sam had been compensated with after the loss of his car.

Holly, who had her job to contend with, could not be there as he was discharged, though she did send him an encouraging, "congratulations-you're-free" text message. He half-grinned as he read it. When she'd first offered her companionship, he had considered telling her 'no'. People willing to do so, in his experience, were few and far between. Longevity for the ones he did form connections with could not be counted on; he'd seen that proven true. But hadn't he encouraged Natasha to do the very same thing, to trust in someone without fear of repercussion or demands? To allow herself to be able to call on someone to be there for her, and do the same in return? The word "hypocrite" rang sharply in his head.

The issue of her safety hovered in the back of Steve's mind as the day for his freedom drew closer. She'd had a brush with the Winter Soldier, with Bucky, and she'd been identified as the one who saved him. Now she was on record, and Natasha had proven that anyone with a steady connection could get it and find her. Holly had the potential of being a person of interest were she to keep in contact with him, and that was dangerous. He toyed with the idea of cutting her off, for her own good.

As they pulled into the driveway, he snapped out of his thoughts.

Sam helped him up the stairs, stabilizing him as they went with his arm around his back. Unlocking the door, he allowed Steve to make his way slowly through his new environment.

"If you want, you can head back to your room, while I get the stuff out of the car," Sam said, indicating the duffel that had been left behind for the moment. Nodding, Steve moved around the kitchen table, glad for the straight shot of the hallway leading to his new room. Stopping dead in the doorway, he found himself staring inside. There wasn't anything wrong with the room itself, but he was stunned to find two things on the bed: a wrapped present, and his shield.

The last he'd heard, the shield had been lost in the Potomac as a result of the crashes. It seemed unlikely that the authorities would have the time to fish it out, and he had figured he would not find it for months, if ever again. And yet, here it was, the painted vibranium freshly cleaned and laying on his bed. The note on top had block lettering, and no signature, but he didn't have to guess who had retrieved it for him.

**Thought you'd want this back.**

_'Thanks, Nick,' _he mused, knowing that at some point he'd have to find Fury and thank him for its return. Briefly, he wondered when he approached Sam with it, or if he hadn't completely bypassed him and dropped it off while they were both at the hospital. Grabbing the shield, he lowered it down to rest along the side of his bed and turned his attention to the wrapped gift.

This one had to have been deliberately left by Sam, he knew that much. Sitting down, he flipped it over in his hands and looked at it carefully. It seemed harmless, rectangular in shape with odd lumps in the center and along the side. Tearing off the cheap wrapping paper, his eyebrows rising as the contents were revealed.

It was a sketchbook and some pencils, the kind that one could get from any hobby store. It certainly wasn't anything fancy, or even much like his leather-covered pocketbook, but to his mind, one could never have too many art supplies. It was his to fill up any way he chose, and he would not complain about that in the least. He flipped through the sheets, treasuring the familiar feeling of heavy paper under his fingers. Only one page was not useable, with a quickly scrawled letter treading across it.

_Steve,_

_This is both a present, and a thank you. A lot of people are safe today because of what you, and Sam, and Natasha did, including me. I appreciate that beyond words, knowing that you wouldn't risk your life for anything less. I don't know if I can articulate that any better, or if anyone can really ever repay you for that, but consider this as a beginning towards that._

_Use it in case those "other things" don't work out. Or even if they do, use it anyway._

_Holly M._

As he sat there, reading the letter and then proceeding to the next page to start drawing, the world around him ceased to exist. And in the back of his mind, he knew that his plans to separate permanently from his new friend were shot to hell.

* * *

**A/N:** ...Yeah, this chapter took awhile. It was just stubborn about being written, but here it is. Sorry for the semi-delay; I wanted this to get done sooner, but alas...

Shout-out to Dumas and Tolkien. I love those authors.

I think it would be good for Steve to have a civilian friend, honestly. I don't want him to lose that here.

By the way, thanks to all my story followers and reviewers, and favorite-ers. I honestly do appreciate you all taking the time for this story, in any way, shape, or form.

Again, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	6. Chapter 6

Perhaps he was pushing his luck, so soon after his release from the hospital, but Steve had grown tired of just sitting around the house. He just couldn't take it anymore. The weeks of inaction had bothered him more than he could articulate and he had made up his mind to do something about it. The doctor, stunned by his progress, had given him the green light for exercise again as long as he paced himself. So, early on the Sunday after he'd first arrived at Sam's, he slipped out of the house as the sun began to light up the sky. Garbed in a hooded sweatshirt, t-shirt, and shorts, he began to loosen up his muscles. The familiar movements tugged at his body, and he rolled his shoulders to get out the last few kinks.

In another couple of days, he would head out to the nearby gym, get back into the rhythm of his usual routine. On that morning, he was set to just run. In light of recent events, he decided it would be best to just run around his new neighborhood, where nobody could recognize him as he passed. Doing laps around the National Mall was not an option, even at dawn. If, by chance, any of the bureaucrats caught sight of him, they'd most likely have him taken in for questioning. For the moment, he preferred the anonymity.

He set out at a light jog (for him), not willing to push himself so far that it would set back his recovery. Breathing in and out, he allowed the scenery to go by, concentrating on his heart rate and the motion of his legs as they propelled him forward. He could lose himself in the activity, forget about everything but charging ahead. Very few lights in the neighbors' houses were on, the streets were quiet as he crossed one way and then another.

In his childhood, Steve had done plenty of running, and not all of it was pleasant. He'd been chased down by bullies, back when he was far too little to begin standing up for himself. Combined with his asthma, it was a downright awful experience trying to get away from them. Running never accomplished anything; it made him winded and sick, and then he'd get beaten up anyway. Eventually he learned that it was better by far to stand his ground and face down his attackers. And then came boot camp, which was entirely different. Drills that involved running up and down the course, among other things, keeping him on his feet for hours until he thought they would bleed. It had worked him harder than he'd ever worked in his life, but it taught him endurance, something he'd held onto even after the serum injections.

After the procedure, he was amazed to be able to run without coughing or wheezing, not choking and praying that it wouldn't cost him his life to hoof it. He put a lot of stock in traveling by foot, whenever practical. Part of him was pleased to be able to finally do something people with normal breathing capacities could do, never mind a super soldier's.

Maybe his daily run, integrated since he'd "woken up" two years ago, was a retroactive way of showing himself that he could capable of it, no matter how much time had passed. It certainly held true as he weaved around a couple parked cars, the city coming alive around him as went on. Steve decided to pick up the pace, getting the blood flowing and his heart pumping. His hood had long since fallen back, a little sweat beginning to prickle along his brow. The wind rushed by his ears, the sounds of the day starting acting as his music.

Time passed, fluidly sliding by as he dodged across streets and through a park. He finally reached his midway point, plotted out the day before on his digital map, when the cell phone deep in his pocket started vibrating. Pausing to catch a breath, he pulled it out and accepted the call, not seeing the name on the screen.

"Hello?"

"Steve, it's Sam," came the other man's voice. He sounded a little concerned, but not distressed. "Where are you?"

He hadn't let his friend know he'd be leaving, but in his gut he could tell that this wasn't a courtesy check-up call. Steve glanced around, not seeing a street sign near him, and answered, "Not sure exactly where, but I'm out on a run. Is something wrong?"

"Well…"

"What is it?" At once he was at attention, alert to possible danger.

Sam sighed, "Natasha's here. Which, as you know, can either be good or bad."

A female voice, the words unintelligible to Steve's ear, cut in. From what he could tell, her tone was amused. Steve grimaced; Natasha often used humor to cushion the seriousness of a situation, making herself sound flippant to cope with the events at hand. So it was very possible that what she had come for wouldn't be good. A feeling akin to hope bloomed in his mind, wondering if she might have found something about Bucky and his time spent as the Winter Soldier. Maybe she'd been able to get information more readily than any of them thought possible.

Glancing at the watch secured to his wrist, he frowned at the digital display. He'd have to press hard to get back in a suitable amount of time; his run had taken him well out of the confines of Sam's neighborhood.

Pivoting on his heel, Steve started to make his way back. "I'll be there soon."

**xXxXxXx**

A blue Buick pulled up alongside the captain as he rounded the last corner from the apartment. The front passenger's window began to roll down, revealing another familiar face framed by brown hair.

"Need a ride?" Holly called out, leaning across the seat and slowing the vehicle down to his pace. She stopped when Steve did, grinning as he turned to face her. "Or are you good?"

He had thought, on the run back, about calling Holly and canceling. With Sam's approval, he had invited her a few days ago to come over and have breakfast, for her to see how both of the men were faring. It was a thank-you for the sketchbook, and a subtle way of encouraging himself to keep his new friend around. He could hear the genuine cheerfulness in her voice when she agreed to come. Granted, she had spent more time with him, but she seemed to be fond of Sam as well, and she was enthusiastic about seeing both of them again. The timing, though, was a little off; work and a girls' night out had prevented her coming around sooner. And honestly…he didn't want to turn her away. If what Natasha had to say needed to be confidential, then he could ask her to step outside for a few minutes.

Holly did not strike him as an intriguer, and would respect the wishes for privacy, should they be needed. She'd probably ask what was going on later, but most likely without a real expectation of getting answers. She'd learned so from Sam and from him.

"Considering we're about fifty feet away from the house, I think I can make it," he huffed, a little out of breath. The fact was confirmed by her GPS a moment later, and he snickered as she quickly shut it off. AT least she'd found the place alright. "You're early."

It was true; she wasn't supposed to arrive for another fifteen minutes, at least. She shrugged her shoulders and replied, "It's my curse. I bear it as best I can. I can circle the block a few times, if you'd rather, and pretend I'm not here for a little while."

Steve shook his head, rolling his eyes. He couldn't quite hide a smirk, though. "Just park and come in."

He waited on the steps while she parked, watching as she scrounged around in the backseat for a few seconds.

'_It's good to see her,'_ he thought, surprised by its surfacing.

Popping up, she held a grocery bag aloft and triumphantly slammed the door shut.

"My contribution," she explained, locking the car remotely and striding towards him. She scrutinized him, and he held himself still under her gaze. "You look so much better, Steve."

"I would hope so," he murmured, scratching his jaw lightly. Nearly all the cuts had healed, and the black eye he'd sported had disappeared. His muscles were sore, and he'd stretched them to the limit with his run, but he was feeling much like his old self again. Gesturing forward, he nodded for her to go ahead of him. "And hi, by the way."

"Hi, and thank you, sir," Holly said, slipping by with a polite dip of the head. Climbing after her, Steve winced as he mounted each step. Luckily, she didn't see that. She was too preoccupied with getting the door open and seeing the people in the kitchen. "Hey, Sam. Oh, and hi, Natasha. How are you?"

Coming up behind her, he could see over her head to his roommate, standing at the stove with a spatula in hand, and his would-be coworker seated at the kitchen table. Natasha looked well; she was dressed down for the occasion (long-sleeved blouse, dark jeans), her red hair combed into place. Her eyes darted from Holly to Steve and then back again, assessing them both silently. Still, she was able to give Holly a genial grin.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"You joining us?" Holly asked, curious. She couldn't help but think, with the way Sam was trying to act nonchalant while stirring the scrambled eggs, and with Steve standing stiffly behind her, that this was not entirely expected.

Natasha, for her part, waved a hand dismissively. "I intended to stop by for a minute, but if you're offering…"

Holly pointed at the two men. "I'm okay with it, but hey, it's up to them."

With that, she moved off to one of the counters, lowering her grocery bag and effectively passing the buck to either one of the gentlemen of the house. Steve shared a nod with Sam and excused himself to shower and change. He shot Natasha one long look, flicking his eyes to Holly briefly and raising his eyebrows minutely before heading down the hall. _Play nice, Nat._

Her silent response was a smirk and tiny nod of her own. _Loud and clear, Cap._

Sam snorted, having witnessed all this and just shook his head good-naturedly. "Can you hand me the pepper, Holly?"

There was no awkward or tense scene to be entered on when Steve had finished cleaning himself up. Natasha was being personable, though she did not often speak. She did have a talent for making herself blend and fit where she needed to. Though the meeting was tentative at first, soon enough the quartet was able to reach equilibrium in conversation, with a couple of shared laughs. Sam had done the bulk of the cooking, with Holly providing donuts and bagels ("Dinners are okay, but good lord, I suck at making breakfast. Don't ask me how, I don't get it, either.").

Steve didn't trust the calm when it descended on the foursome. He knew the other shoe was about to drop. And, midway through the meal, it did.

"The Senate has called a hearing regarding Project: Insight, and the crashes," Natasha interjected smoothly, spearing a bit of egg and toying with it. Before anyone could react to that piece of news, she continued, "They launched an investigation, almost as soon as the last of the major parts of the wreckage were cleared."

Holly, clearing her throat, made to rise from the table. "I can leave-"

Natasha's hand flew up preemptively, stopping both her and any other responses from their fellow companions. "No, no, stay. It'll all be public knowledge eventually, anyway."

Holly's brow furrowed, but she sat back down. "Okay, if you don't mind."

She was speaking nominally to the other woman, but her eyes were on Steve, asking him whether he wanted her to stay. A moment passed, as he turned it over in his mind. Natasha deemed her worthy of the information, so he wouldn't send her out. He inclined his head before gesturing his compatriot to keep going.

"The extent to which HYDRA infiltrated SHIELD was massive, and the off-shoots are numerous. They aren't pleased with what they've found thus far."

"Seems like you're understating a tad," Sam ventured. Natasha shot him an exasperated look. "I bet they're not 'pleased' with what we did, either."

"Definitely not. They're demanding an explanation, at the very least, as to why we trashed what the tax payers paid for."

"Seriously?" Holly scoffed, narrowing her eyes that. "They want _you_ to furnish the reasons why you decided to take out what was essentially a weapon of mass destruction programmed by an evil organization?"

Natasha passed a hand over her face, replying, "Believe it or not, yes, that's exactly what they want. They want us to answer for our actions. Or, more specifically, one of us to answer for it."

Silence stretched as Sam and the two women studiously avoided looking at Steve. It wasn't surprising, in the least, that the government would look to Captain America as the scapegoat of the situation, as he was the one who made the official declaration of intent against the carriers' launch. A weight began to settle on his shoulders; he'd been prepared to take responsibility for his actions, one way or another, but it didn't make the idea of a court hearing more palatable.

He sighed, muttering, "So it's a matter of time before they come looking for me."

Natasha nodded, raising her chin and sitting up straight. "They won't."

Off his inquisitive expression, she pressed on, "A summons for you is out of the question, for several reasons. One of which being that nobody wants to see a national hero defending himself for doing the right thing, and risking his life for doing so. It'll be taken care of, as long as you keep your head down and out of sight for the time being."

Ah, so that was why she was here, then: to warn him before he got caught unawares.

"How can you guarantee that?" Holly inquired, unsure despite Natasha's confident tone. "I mean, I agree that Steve shouldn't be summoned-none of you should, in my opinion-but how…"

Natasha gave her a small, mysterious smile. The promise in her eyes was intriguing, and Steve could see that whatever needed to be done would have a cost. But for once, he wouldn't have to pay the price. He could see that she was offering to help him herself, for the sake of helping him out. "Trust me."

Without any further explanation, Natasha excused herself from the table, with a final warning tossed over her shoulder for the pair of men to keep low profiles while she went to work. As the door clicked into place behind her, Steve inhaled sharply, unaware that he'd stopped breathing at all. Sam, meanwhile, pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes before getting up and meandering into his own room, to 'process it all.' Silence enveloped the pair remaining at the table, the stillness filled with doubt and uncertainty.

"I hope you can trust her," Holly offered hesitantly, trying to keep her tone positive. Steve kept his gaze fixed on the middle distance, chewing it over. He leaned forward, pushing his empty plate away and folded his hands on the table in front of him.

"I can," he responded simply. He'd come through for her; this was her chance to do the same. And Natasha didn't do anything by halves, if she could possibly help it. "I have to."

Gently, he felt light pressure on his fingers, and he looked down to find Holly's right hand over his. Squeezing gently, she patted them a couple times for good measure. Her face, though creased with concern, sported a tiny grin, and her wide eyes reflecting trust in his judgment. "Then that's it, then."

Standing, she gathered up the dishes left over on the table, shooting him another half grin before moving away towards the sink. Calling out, she told Sam she'd take care of the plates and pans. A beat passed, with him pondering the idea of keeping a low profile, staying under the radar. Of being, essentially, a normal civilian.

He'd been in action for so long, he could barely remember what it was like to not be on the move. There was always the next mission, the next test. It was strange, to find himself in a period of calm after the major storms of war and battle. And he knew it wouldn't last for long, but it was still foreign to him.

His gaze was drawn to the woman at the sink, her hands moving studiously to fill up the sides with warm and cold water, and stacking the other dishes alongside on the counter. Taking the elastic from her wrist, Holly bound back her hair to keep it out of her face, to allow her to continue unhindered. Doing the dishes. A common action, one he'd seen (and participated in himself) many times. Garden variety domesticity.

There was peacefulness in the mundane activity, which Steve hadn't noticed before.

_'I can do it, I can make it work,'_ he mused, getting out of the chair and coming around her left. He could train, he could run, and he could rest. He could rest, and prepare for when the time came to find Bucky. As long as he was able to keep moving, one way or another.

"I'll dry," he offered as she scrubbed the egg pan. Grabbing the towel hanging from the rack on the wall, he gathered a plate from the cool water and began doing just that.

And he did well with it, until Holly began flicking dishwater at his face. Soon enough, the seriousness of the morning was put to the back of their minds as they engaged in a miniature water battle, snickering as they both got in their shots.

* * *

**A/N:** So this was a fairly Steve-centric chapter. I had intended to write it from Holly's perspective, but Steve…well, he wouldn't let me. Hope it didn't bother you all too much (like it ever could, haha).  
So now he's got to keep out of sight, at least as far as the Senate and government are concerned, at least for the present. I'm sure he'll find things to keep himself occupied…  
Thanks for reading, review if you so wish, and I will see you next chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

It was time, he had said. Time to tackle…the list.

Holly had learned, surprisingly, that Steve Rogers had a running list of things that he "had to" learn about now that he was back and alive in the real world. The list was ongoing, to be added to and altered as time went on, but the basics remained the same: it had to be something he'd missed in his time asleep, and was considered a must-have to understanding the modern world around him. And now, now he had the time to start cracking away at it. (It should be mentioned that he had, with a moment of quiet pride, struck off the _Troubleman_ soundtrack immediately following his hospital release. Sam claimed to have never been more pleased with anything than with that action, and both shared a laugh at his sarcasm.)

It amused her to think that he would compile such a list, but as she thought about it, she found it to be a practical endeavor. Looking at it from his point of view, she knew that she'd have to get up to date on major events that happened just to get an idea of what people were talking about. Living in the past would be no help if he wanted to thrive as well as survive.

A few days after the brunch with Natasha, he'd called and asked her to help him with a few things on it. Looking at the clock, she figured that her lunch break would be the best time to do so, and made plans to see him then. Meeting him a few blocks away at a café, she stopped dead in her tracks when she spotted him waiting for her out front. His civilian clothes were fine—privately, she thought he could wear a potato sack and still look good—but the pair of horn rimmed glasses and the baseball cap, not to mention the high top sneakers, threw her off a little.

"What?" he asked, noticing her staring after a few moments. Part of her brain, the part that she had to force into a box for the blatant honesty, was screaming about the pseudo-hipster-urban look of the whole ensemble and how it really, _really_ wasn't fair for him to look good in that, too.

Shaking her head to dislodge those thoughts (and to push back the blush that crept up at being caught gawking), she looked pointedly at the glasses before tugging playfully on the bill of his hat. "Nice look. So you're a Dodgers fan?"

Sheepishly, he ducked his head, swatting her hand away and his little half grin playing on his lips. "For over ninety years."

It still jarred a little to hear him reference his age and have the appearance of a young man. Given that it was true, though, she really could respond to it in any other way than a nod and smile back. He professed that he hadn't thought she knew much about baseball, and in truth she didn't, but she could recognize logos. They moved to go inside, the discussion turning towards advertising logos in general and which ones had changed since the 1940's. Discreetly she watched him while he talked, while he in turn was surreptitiously watching everything else around them. There had been too many surprises in the last few months, and he was trying to not be caught off-guard again. With his disguise, he appeared as though he belonged, but as he held the door open for her and let her go in first, she caught him fidgeting with the fake glasses out the corner of her eye. Her attention turned to the hostess, who gave them the option to sit out on the patio as the weather was pleasant enough for it.

Holly was more than eager for the opportunity, as she would be cooped up in the office all afternoon once her break was over, and with Steve's agreement, they headed that way.

"This is the upshot of living here, as opposed to back home," she told him upon sitting down (he'd held out the chair for her, another surprise, and just shook off her quiet proclamation that he didn't have to do so). "Spring is actually spring here; in Minnesota, there'd be a chance of snow still on the ground."

"And is there still snow on the ground there?" He was curious; Steve had been to so many places in the world, but never the Midwest. On the news, it had been reported about the winter chills and snow engulfing a good portion of the country, but he hadn't paid too much attention to it. In his mind, an image of a frozen tundra and people tunneling through it popped up. He furrowed his brow, trying to keep the image in mind for later. It could make for a funny cartoon or comic…

"Unfortunately for my family, yes. On and off all month," Holly said, sounding as irritated for them as they must have been. "Dad's been bouncing off the walls for long enough already from being stuck inside. It's driving Mom up the wall."

He snorted. From what Holly had told him, her father worked building houses for most of his life, a very physical job. He was an active outdoorsman as well. He sympathized with him. "Poor woman."

"You have no idea," she laughed, looking at the menu before her and considering it quickly. "Anyway, you were saying you were thinking about getting some books on the phone. I have to ask: why not go to the library?"

Of course, Steve had considered the library, but inevitably he'd want to take materials home with him, and he couldn't very well do so without positive identification of a card in his name. That definitely wouldn't work with the whole "lie low" edict that Natasha had mentioned. Holly nodded, apologizing for her momentary idiocy at not realizing that fact (half in jest, of course, if the crooked grin she gave him was any indication). Sam, being that he was less well-known, could still move around fluidly, but he didn't want to be dependent on the man. Steve wanted to do for himself as much as he could, and to be honest, he was still a little leery of online companies. Any of them, really; most of what he'd owned in the last two years had been either provided by SHIELD or he went to a real store to get it from. No credit cards, just cash for the present, to pay for his expenditures. And so, he turned to another source: Holly.

They got down to business after the food had been ordered and the menus whisked away. For a few of them, he was willing to have any help, and deep down she was very pleased to be the one he called on.

"If you stop by the bookstore, I can get a copy of Steve Jobs' biography for you," Holly said, scanning over the list that Steve let her borrow. It was inconspicuous, red and flipping open easily. "We might have a few books on the Cold War and the moon landing, too…I mean, if you aren't up to looking at the Wikipedia pages."

Steve shook his head. "I've browsed Wikipedia. I'd rather have actual accredited research books."

She snickered. "There's a reason professors across the country were screaming against it during the last ten years or so."

"I can imagine. And thanks."

She shrugged. "It's no problem. I will say, though, that you're very fortunate to have me as a friend. I'll be your inside man, so to speak."

Returning her smile, he nodded. She was more right than either of them would care to admit. "Very fortunate."

After a moment of silence, Steve cleared his throat, and Holly gestured at the list, murmuring, "Again, I can help you find that stuff at the store later. You can use my employee discount for it, too."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?"

"Yes…if you let me help you with one more thing on the list."

"Which one?"

Her smile turned almost predatory, and he pulled back in his chair at the sight. She pointed, tapping the item in question with barely subdued eagerness. "That one."

**xXxXxXx**

"Let me get this straight: it's a long time ago, but it's set in a futuristic alien galaxy?" Steve muttered, watching the opening text of _Star Wars: A New Hope_ scroll up on the television screen. He settled back on the couch, screwing up his face in confusion already. "And this is the fourth installment? How does that make sense?"

Holly, the ranking veteran at that particular moment, glanced at him and scoffed, "Suspend your disbelief, you nerfherder. The movie hasn't even officially started yet."

Friday night found Steve in an entirely new environment: Holly's apartment. When she pointed it out on the list, she insisted that Steve experience them for the first time in her company. She had gone full tilt with it, revealing her loves of the movies that she'd had since the age of ten. If she could've been anything in the world, she'd claimed that she would've become a Jedi. It was interesting to see her enthusiasm for it all; in fact, it was funny to see her bounce around, talking about land speeders and sabers and all kinds of things he didn't understand. (For _Star Trek_, though, he was on his own; she had no love for the television/film franchise, and even the newer movies did not make a lasting impression on her. Except for Kirk, whoever that was; he'd shrugged the comment off at the time.) It was the earliest she could squeeze it in between work and her friend Sarah's birthday party, and as she was the one with a schedule to respect at the moment, he waited until then.

He found it difficult to turn down her offer to host, and so there he was. Her place was nice enough, the walls decorated with photos and even a couple framed movie posters. Two filled bookshelves framed the television, the movies stored in the stand below. The kitchen and the dining area were small, but then again, he didn't expect everyone to have the spacious accommodations that he was lucky enough to get once he'd moved to D.C. The rest of the apartment remained a mystery, for the time being; the main action was to take place in the living room, and he didn't want to pry.

Everything was prepared: popcorn in a big bowl on the coffee table, a couple sodas each waiting beside it, and the DVD waiting in its case by the player. As she bade him sit, Holly told him that if he had any questions, he could ask her as the film went on. And if became a fan, she told him, she would be so pleased. A little selfish, because she would have been the witness to that event; she even said so herself, preening a little in her logoed t-shirt before popping the disk in.

He turned his head, his confusion growing. "What did you just call me?"

Struggling not to laugh too hard, she waved a hand. "Never mind, you'll find out in the next movie."

He flashed a concerned look in her direction, a little daunted at the prospect of continuing the marathon. "I'm not doing all six in one night."

Mentally she gave him brownie points for having at least discovered how many there were in the saga. "Of course not, this is just the introduction. I know you old men need your rest."

His blues eyes lit up, and his face creased with mock fury. "Don't call me old, _kid_."

"Stop referencing it yourself, then, old man," she replied, turning her gaze back to the television and patting his knee in excitement. "Look, look! It's starting."

It was hard to detach from her joy, to pull away from the excitement in her voice, and so he didn't try to. Not too hard, at least. He wanted to remain skeptical, a little bit, about a film that featured a war between different races in a galaxy far, far away. Having lived through something similar to that, he didn't think that the story could be as engaging as what he'd truly experienced. He didn't know if he could be distracted by that.

He didn't know if he could, in that moment, be distracted from the fact that Holly had chosen to sit so close to him. The opening onscreen firefight and flight of the two droids (Droids? Oh, they were robots. He wondered if this was where Stark got his desire to install his robotics in and around his homes) were doing a fair job, but he couldn't fully put it out of his mind. If she moved an inch to the right, they'd bump shoulders. From the moment they'd met, she'd been so careful about not invading his space, not coming too close, as though her touch would set back his recovery. Little by little, though, she'd been breaking those strictures with a shoulder tap here or a hand pat there. She hadn't initially struck him as tactile, but perhaps she was holding back for propriety's sake. Physical contact, in a non-combative form, was not something that he was used to anymore. People only got close to him now if the plane was crowded, or if they were attacking him. Or if they wanted something from him, they'd invade his space to prove a point. To have someone touch him with kind intent was…strange.

That wasn't to say he didn't like it. In fact, if he were being honest—

"What _are_ those things?" Steve remarked, forcibly turning his mind back to the movie and pointing at the tiny creatures in hooded robes.

_Stay focused,_ he chastised himself. _It's nothing._

Holly laughed, grabbing a handful of popcorn out of the bowl. When she leaned back into the couch, she leaned against his arm, and stayed put, munching on the popcorn. The feeling of her settling drew his eyes back to her, her body heat mixing with his. Her brown eyes were bright as she returned his faux inquisitive look.

"Jawas."

"Oh…that's weird."

—If he were being honest, he didn't mind it at all.

And if his wide-eyed, slightly opened-mouth reaction to the remainder of the film's events were anything to go by, he didn't mind the movie all that much, either.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of the plot points, characters or terminology from the _Star Wars _franchise. Thinks that's fairly obvious; otherwise I'd be rolling in dough from the royalties.

**A/N:** …Do you guys know how hard it is to reconcile a fluid timeline? To put an actual date and time on a single film from a much bigger universe, to make it all coincide with a story's plot, because they had to place it in the present day? A lot of people may view that a film's release date would indicate its occurrence (i.e. Iron Man 3 takes place during Spring 2013 due to its premiere). BUT BUT BUT—and that's a lot of "buts"—that doesn't work when it transitions between seasons from one scene to another. (Again, I bring up IM3, when Tony flies off in the suit to save himself and lands in a snowy Tennessee, so it mostly likely takes place in winter of 2012-2013, with the end scene with Banner possibly in spring.) That doesn't work on a "real-time" storyline. So consequently, one cannot pin it all down and wrap it up with a neat little bow. For the sake of this story, I have perceived the events of CA:TWS to have started at the end March of 2014 (which would place this story, as of this moment, at the end of April or thereabouts).

I'm sure you were all pleased to sit through my little rant. Sorry about that…

Also, no offense meant to the owners of Wikipedia. I actually like it; I have spent a lot of time looking up random historical figures on that site. However, I will point out that due to the multitude of sources that are not all credible there, a lot of teachers/professors I had during my school years strongly advised people not to use it as a source. Just making it clear that I intended no evil there. One last thing: I was bloody pleased to see that _Star Wars_ had made Steve's list in the film. I love those movies. Original trilogy FTW (although I do like Ewan McGregor's Obi-Wan Kenobi).

Sorry that this one is so much shorter than the others, but…that's the way the cookie crumbles sometimes. Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

The chimes of a ringtone pulled Steve out of the depths of sleep. Opening his eyes, he blinked lazily as he glanced around his room, which had darkened considerably. Last thing he'd known, he was paging through the Steve Jobs biography, fighting off a wave of tiredness that had come over him as best he could. His sketchbook sat to his right, opened to a half-finished drawing, in case he wished to complete it. It was a lazy day for him, yet another in the stream of his hiding out from the government.

The night before, he'd gone back over to Holly's, intent on finish the original trilogy they had started a couple of days previously. It was an endeavor they had undertaken together, and he felt it would be right to continue with her. His imagination had conjured up an impression of what her disappointment and rage would be like if he'd done it on his own, so he didn't try too hard to fight against this plan. With Sam going out with the girl from the front desk (seems that having aided Captain America really caught her attention) he figured he could use the opportunity to his advantage. And Holly, too excited for him to complete the last two movies, had agreed to his plan of action, reckoning that she would probably be up anyway and it wouldn't impede work the next day. It was a little after midnight when the end credits for the final movie rolled across the screen, and he was glad to have gotten at least halfway through it all.

He had to admit to himself that the films, thus far, were good. He could respect the time and effort taken for each movie, and a little part of him thought that a blaster would've been a better weapon than the handguns he'd dealt with while facing HYDRA soldiers back in the day. He'd also noticed the heavy-handed comparisons between the Imperial stormtroopers and the Emperor to his past life experiences. It was a little unsettling, but he got some retroactive satisfaction in seeing these fellows being dealt with easily. At least someone had a less stressful experience with the enemy. And the plot twists? Well, it went without saying how surprising it was to find out Darth Vader was Luke's father (though Holly bouncing beside him in her seat as the action played sort of took away from the experience). Luke and Leia being revealed as related in the sixth one? _That _truly blindsided him.

"_And somehow she always __knew__?" he had asked incredulously, his face scrunching in a mix of disgust and surprise. "And she kissed him anyway?"_

_Holly nodded, only to shake her head a few seconds later. "Well, one of those was to prove a point to Han..."_

_Steve snorted. "Yeah, that really doesn't help."_

"_...Yeah, I know."_

"_If that's an initiation rite for becoming a Jedi, count me out."_

_She stuck her tongue out at him. "Shut up."_

_He snickered at her, his mouth twisting in a smirk. "At least the army doesn't make you kiss your sister when you join."_

"_Shut up__!" She tried to look serious as she said that, but she couldn't hold back the giggles as she spoke. She lightly backhanded him in the chest, catching him off-guard and causing his smirk to break into an honest smile as he chuckled._

"_Oooh, that smarts," he mocked her, "don't know how I'll recover from that."_

_She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in faux frustration and getting off the sofa. As she walked away, she threw over her shoulder, "Well, I'll be in the kitchen while you're nursing your wounds, nerfherder."_

"_Okay, princess," he shot back, hearing her teeth audibly grind as she continued on her path towards the kitchen. "Or should I say, 'committee'?"_

"_Ugh!"_

_Oh, he was having fun, despite or because of the lateness of the hour. If there was one thing that could be said of living at that time, it was that he was getting better at talking to women. He still wasn't a smooth talker, but at least he wasn't the blunderer that he once was._

Steve had left shortly thereafter, receiving a brief hug from Holly and an admonition to be safe on the road home. His arms reacted automatically, but quickly he allowed himself to register the action, curling them around her gently. A renegade thought, one that he wouldn't acknowledge at the time, reveled in how nice it felt. It had been some time since the last time he'd been so close to someone...

_'And you need to let go now,' _his brain chided him, forcing him to separate from her rather quickly or risk looking like a fool. Promising to be safe, he'd exited, sneaking a glance over his shoulder one more time to catch her standing by the door and watching him leave.

Today, Steve had spent him time at the gym, knocking around a few punching bags and a training dummy, falling back into a varied routine as he moved from one fighting style to another. He flicked his wrists every so often, imagining the shield that he did not bring with him bouncing off invisible targets and readjusting his positions accordingly. One of the few things he missed about SHIELD were the training facilities; they were top-notch and included the best equipment. He also had trained operatives as sparring partners to keep him in form. Perhaps he was overcompensating for the lack of assistance and overdid it in the gym (with a couple of bystanders staring at him in awe when he'd left behind three ripped bags and busted dummy; an apology note and a couple hundreds were left on the front desk for the owner as a result) but when he arrived back at the apartment, he felt a little tired. Some light reading wouldn't overtax him. Taking a nap mid-chapter was not part of the original equation, but it happened nonetheless.

The digital clock on the side table read three in the morning, the face lit up by the shining phone screen.

Blinking again, he groaned to himself, realizing he'd napped far too long. That, and he'd have to read the last chapter over again, as he could recall nothing from it. Frowning, he set off to the side, rolling over to switch on the lamp. The flooding brightness stung momentarily, but he ignored that in favor of finding out exactly who decided to get in touch with him at this point in the night. There was both a missed call and a text message, with no sender name attached. Furrowing his brow, he swiped slowly over the screen, tapping the icon to open the text first. It was one of those group messages, with Sam and Natasha's numbers included as well.

**_Graveyard. The plot. 11 AM. Delete this._**

Letting out a sigh, he shook his head, scrubbing his face with his free hand. It could only have been Fury, he mused. Well, it appeared that he and Sam would be busy tomorrow morning. Idly, he wondered if his friend would be able to get off of work for a little while for the meeting.

Tiredly, he tapped the missed call notification, which revealed that a voice message had been left. Listening to it, his eyes went wide.

"Steve, it's Natasha. The hearing is scheduled for tomorrow. I'm taking care of it, don't worry. Turn on CNN around eightish or so tomorrow morning if you want to catch the free show."

With a click, the message ended, and Steve leaned back against his pillow, grimacing to himself. He'd thought that they would've had more time, but evidently the Senate was eager to get the entire ordeal cleaned up and taken care of now. His entire hospital stay and two weeks after that, they'd dithered on the subject, but it still was moving a little quickly for his liking. Natasha was keeping her promise, but he knew she was doing so at a great cost to herself. She truly must have taken his words to heart, in establishing her true self, in trusting others and in turn having them trust her. All he could hope was that she wouldn't have to give up too much, just for him.

"Better not miss the show," he mumbled under his breath, rotating to set the alarm on his clock. Hesitating, he grabbed his phone one more time. Laboring over the small keyboard (his fingers were a little big, and he wasn't the most adept at texting, anyway) he sent off a few messages of his own before tossing the phone away and rolling over to pass out again.

**_Natasha, thank you. Good luck._**

**_I'll be there. Deleting the message now._**

**_Holly, if you get a chance...watch CNN tomorrow morning._**

**xXxXxXx**

Holly had been curious, and not a little suspicious, to find a text from Steve on her phone the following morning. Usually he called her when he wanted to get in touch, but she supposed that the time dictated the action. (Sending a text at three o'clock was preferable to getting a call at that time. She might have murdered him for that, superhero or not. Not literally, but she really hated being woken up that late for trivial things.) In any case, she had to wonder what he was on about, and naturally she switched on the television a little after eight-thirty, after scrounging around for some breakfast. Clicking through the channels, she found CNN and sank back into the couch, bagel in hand. The hearing room onscreen was packed with committee members and officers, while journalists and reporters hovered behind the defendant's seat. Photographers made their presence known with flashes going off every so often. A bailiff stood to one side, and security guards flanked the entrance.

The camera cut from the speaking general, demanding an explanation for the actions of a mere month ago, to Natasha, who was seated before the panel. She was dressed soberly, arms crossed over her black blazer and her hair hanging loose. Her face was a picture of placidity, though as he said that, her brow furrowed slightly.

"Natasha?" Holly wondered to herself. She had clearly tuned in somewhere towards the middle of the hearing. Reading the scrolling text at the bottom of the screen, it summed up the previous events that she missed: SHIELD OPERATIVES SECRETLY WORK FOR ENEMY ORGANIZATION, BLACK WIDOW TESTIFIES, CAPTAIN AMERICA STILL MISSING.

Natasha spoke, staring down the man with her head cocked to the left as she explained how the point of the battle over the river should suffice as an explanation. HYDRA had been manipulating them all, for years, and any information salvaged from them should not even be considered. The lies, the brokenness, were perpetuated for too long.

_'You tell him,' _Holly thought, grinning widely at the agent's response.

"We've noticed. Just as we noticed your own personal involvement in those lies," he retorted hotly. Holly watched silently, transfixed by Natasha's courage. When the other woman had indicated that the hearing would be taken care of, it hadn't occurred to her that Natasha would in turn be selling herself out. She was a secret agent, a field operative, she knew that much, but she didn't know to what lengths she would personally go for this trial. Now, she understood.

Another on the panel commented that due to the agent's service record all across the board, she should be sent to a federal prison. She, in their eyes, had no right to be seated before them, giving them a tongue lashing and being a smart-mouth in general. Holly blanched on behalf on the woman in question, who continued to hold her ground. Her firsthand experience with Natasha had taught her that she would not be easily cowed or swayed by words, but would instead be the intimidating one.

A brief moment of silence followed, in which Romanoff was compiling her answer. Confidently, she expressed her surety of never being sent to prison, due to the fact that she, and by extension Steve and Sam, were among the best equipped to protect a vulnerable world. Indeed, though they had had a hand in making it that way, they would be the ones to fix the errors made on all accounts. To be held in a penitentiary somewhere would be counterproductive, though she took a moment to dare the counsel to arrest her anyway.

"If you want me, come and get me. I won't be hiding," she said, finishing her speech. The camera caught her flicking her eyes to each member on the hearing committee, blasting them with her icy clarity and truth. Swiftly, as though answering an unheard call, she rose from her chair, striding out of the proceedings with her head held high. Holly, in turn felt an upsurge of pride for her.

Not knowing her very well personally, she still felt glad that she'd stood her ground, told the truth and exposed a corrupt system so that the country could still recover from before it was too late. And she'd done so without destroying another's life in the process. She had to know that she could pick herself back up, but not at the cost of a friend's life and credibility. It was good to see Steve's trust in her be rewarded.

"Good job," she commented to the screen, though Natasha would never hear her say so and she had long since left the hearing. The cameras went back to the main newsroom, where the anchors began to speculate about the nation's future security measures and how the Black Widow's confessions would ultimately affect the outcome of such things. What mattered to her, however, was that Steve was safe and free. That filled her with so much relief and gladness she almost sagged at the thought.

And then she glanced at the clock, realizing how close she was cutting it this morning. Remembering her bagel, she wolfed it down and ran off to finish getting ready for work.

**xXxXxXx**

His phone chimed at him once more, but at least it didn't wake him up that time.

**_I caught the show. So now that SHIELD's completely gone, you gonna start on those "other things" now?_**

Holly had sent Steve that message while he was on his way to the graveyard, and he still had not answered when they got there. Of course, she hadn't forgotten his comments about his future plans while he was in the hospital, and she wasn't likely to not notice that he was, essentially, waiting to act on them. All fun aside, she knew he had other ideas in mind. He wasn't sure he could give her a straight answer, and so he left it be.

Though the meeting at Nick Fury's grave was ostensibly to be offered a chance to eliminate remaining HYDRA cells in Europe, Natasha had something to offer him as well, he would come to find out. Steve and Sam had waited by the plot, the dirt fresh and the headstone clean. It was slightly disconcerting, looking at the grave of a man still living. Fury himself had arrived with patched jeans and a hooded jacket, his patch replaced by a set of sunglasses, looking much better than he had a month ago. Looking down at the grave, with a new bouquet at the foot, he sighed.

"So," he muttered, "got any sage advice for this?"

Steve shrugged his shoulders. "Just that it's easier to digest after awhile."

When they inevitably declined Fury's offer, he didn't push the matter. It had to be the first time Steve had seen him not insist on his participation; in fact, he just seemed to let it roll off his back. Though he shook their hands and bid them a somewhat questionable farewell, he could feel in his bones that it wouldn't be too long before he saw the ex-director again.

Perhaps he knew that too, deep down. Maybe that's why he was able to let it go.

After he left, Natasha came forward, her suit exchanged for more casual attire. With all her covers blown, she was off to make a new one for herself. Still, she was smiling as she said it, looking pleased at the prospect of creating something different out of the wreckage of SHIELD. It was encouragement for him to keep doing the same.

And then she handed the folder to him, all previous enjoyment sliding off his face. It felt like a lead weight in his hands, holding him in place as he stared down at it. A few favors from Kiev, Natasha had said it took. Her contacts, most likely the last of them (save for Barton, who was waiting for Nick in London, he would find out later) had pulled through. It was here, all of what he desperately wanted to know. The official truth of what had happened to Bucky.

"Will you do something for me?" she asked him, drawing his attention back to her face. "The nurse...you should get in touch with her."

The nurse...the agent who had posed as his neighbor over the last few months. He'd half-forgotten about her, occupied as he had been with taking down SHIELD, recovering, and other things.

"She's an agent," he replied, a wry smile on his lips. Recalling her, he remembered her blonde hair and dark eyes, and how pretty she was. And he remembered the admiration he felt for her, whenever they exchanged pleasantries in the hall. But soon enough, that was replaced by the feeling of shock at discovering the truth about her, the irritation at finding out that Fury couldn't trust him enough to defend himself. The anger he felt at being duped, and her waltzing out of Price's office, unapologetic. It wasn't fair; he understood that, to judge her for doing her job. However, it didn't sit well with him that she had lied to him so brazenly for months and he didn't have a clue. That she was part of the group that was organizing and manipulating everything behind his back.

And something else, a surge of feeling that his mind had labeled as betrayal, sped through his veins. It was sudden, off-putting, but it was there. He stamped down on it as quickly as he could, unwilling to give it more attention at the moment.

"Not anymore. Neither are you, for that matter," Natasha reminded him, answering his grin with her own. In truth, he never really was, but that was beside the point. She tapped a piece of paper clipped to the file, a phone number written on it in her neat handwriting. "Her name's Sharon, by the way."

The sincerity in Natasha's voice touched him, and he could only answer back with a wistful grin. She genuinely wanted him to do it, to be happy. But whether or not he followed her advice as out of her hands, and she knew that, too. Right now, he had other things to attend to. She leaned forward then, rising up on her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek good-bye. Neither knew when they would see one another again, but they silently wished each other the best of luck.

"Steve," she called to him, throwing him a concerned look as she walked away. Nodding at the folder in his hands, she went on. "Just...be careful, okay? A lot of that is going to be hard to swallow, and I don't think...well…"

Telling him so was futile, but she had stated her feelings on the matter as clearly as she could in those short sentences. He said nothing to that, dropping his eyes down and listening as her footsteps took her further and further away. Taking a deep breath, slid one finger under the cover, opening the file. Two pictures were clipped to the front, opposite a ream of documents littered with notes and official seals.

A face in a frozen chamber, the eyes closed but the expression peaceful greeted his sight first, and then he trailed his gaze down to the inset one. Bucky, wearing his cap and uniform, looked off in the distance. Both were of the same person, but they could not have appeared to be more different. Still, it was him. His friend, his companion, his brother in bond. The Winter Soldier. It was all right here, he would finally know.

Sam, a solid wall behind him, spoke up then. "I know you'll try to find him."

He didn't look at him, but acknowledged his words with a grimace. "You don't have to be a part of it."

"Fair enough…you want to get started now or later?"

A minute or two passed, with Steve gazing at the folder but seeing nothing. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable, and he had known for weeks what his course of action would be. Snapping it shut, he raised his head. "Now."

It was time to head home, to begin sketching out a plan of action, and to study the file in its entirety. Finally, he had an answer, and as he walked back to the car with Sam, he pulled out his phone and replied to Holly's previous message.

**_Starting now, yes._**

* * *

**A/N: **About time, right? I know the chapter was mostly about events in the movie, but they are the lead-in to the rest of the story's action, so please don't hate me too much.

Will Sharon/Agent 13 be making an appearance in the future? Will Steve call her? Honestly, I don't know. And I do know that canonically she and Steve get together (and break up, and get together, et ecetera, et cetera), but during the movie, I just didn't get that vibe. Yeah, the screenwriters can claim "planting the seeds" for that, but I just didn't see it, even before I started writing this fiction. That's just me, personally...maybe I'm blind or something.

And in case anyone is wondering about the timing of the fic, it's around early May 2014, for reference.

Disclaimer point here: I don't own any of the material, plot points, or characters from the _Star Wars _saga. The films have been out since the 1970's, so I don't feel obligated to say "Spoilers!" for any of it. I also don't own the mentioned events of _Captain America: The Winter Soldier. _No money for me, no sir...

By the way, thanks to everyone who has followed/story-alerted this fic. I appreciate that more than I can say. And thanks to everyone who has reviewed as well, you guys make my day and really help me out.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next chapter!


	9. Chapter 9

Holly briskly strode down the sidewalk, leaving her car in the lot behind her. Jogging, she cut across the grass towards the nondescript apartment building. She felt like she was going to be late, even though it hardly mattered if she arrived on time at this place. What mattered was that she came. And after the long day she'd had at work, she was more than glad to arrive at any point here. Stealing swiftly through the side door, she jogged down the hall and halted before the door marked #7. Pounding lightly, she heard the stirring within and stepped back a little as the door was thrown open.

"Hey!"

A petite blonde whirlwind seemed to come at her, and all she could do was open her arms and allow herself to be hugged tightly. Sarah Collins was her best friend, after all, and could hardly be denied the gesture.

Sarah was one of the few people Holly had met when she first moved out to the East Coast, a tiny girl who had wandered into the bookstore to escape a deluge of rain. She could not be ignored, with her graceful bearing and her bright, happy vocals as she practically trilled away about this, that, and the other thing. Instead of feeling annoyed, the lonely girl at the till was grateful to have someone to talk to her like she wasn't an idiot just there to ring up the books. Soon enough, the two became fast and close friends.

"Feels like I haven't seen you in forever, girl. How are you?" she asked, her voice cheerful and her green eyes wide as she led the way into her apartment. Holly stepped after her, careful to keep her longer stride short so she didn't overtake her friend. Seating herself on the couch, she tucked a leg under her knee, while Sarah was seated cross-legged down the way. A wine bottle and two glasses waited on the coffee table, and both young women indulged in a glass. Glancing around, the familiar sights of old trophies and the pictures of little girls in sequined outfits filtering amongst the other bookshelf knick-knacks met Holly's gaze. Sarah, having danced from a young age, had taken up the mantle of instructor several years ago, and her devotion to her pupils—her girls, she called them—showed in every corner of the living room.

"I'm good," she answered, giving her friend a saucy grin over the rim of her glass. "It's been two weeks since your birthday. You getting so old you forgot that already?"

"Yes, I'm so ancient now," snorted Sarah, waving away the jab with a flick of her fingers. Given that she was only twenty-four, two years younger than Holly herself, she didn't take it at all to heart. "Point being, I haven't seen you a lot lately."

Holly sighed, resting her head against her hand and taking another sip of wine. "I know, I've...I've been busy."

"Writing?"

It was a fair assumption; though it hadn't happened in awhile, Holly had several works of fiction waiting on her laptop that she plunked away at every now and again. The big story, however, had not been touched in some time; a novel, spanning across two years and still not near completion. Ostensibly, Holly had gone to school to become a writer, but aside from a couple of poems and a short story, she hadn't published much. Real life, and writer's block, definitely took up a major portion of her time. Still, there was a chance she may have been bitten by the writing bug.

"No. Well, yes and no. I've chiseled away at the manuscript a little. I think I've figured out how to get my character out of the prison," she confessed excitedly. Her character was a young girl with special capabilities, attempting to find their mother after she was abducted by a special agency. She'd been locked up the last time Holly had worked with her; knowing where to go with a story, but not how to get there, was a cruel feeling. She was glad to be able to banish it.

Sarah snorted, rather indelicately, as she drank. "Only took you six months."

Holly rolled her eyes and chuckled, "Shut up."

Next came the inevitable questions: how was her brother doing? Keeping to the garage with the cars, as usual? Was her sister still enjoying married life and her new infant son? Were her parents okay?

"Everyone's fine, really. Not much has changed back home. Still weird to think of Hank and Heather as adults, with businesses and babies, but Mom and Dad are handling better than me," Holly said, laughing a little to herself. Asking after Sarah's girls, she discovered that they were well on their way to working out going to competition at the end of the month. The pride in her voice was evident, and she was so happy to have the girls get as far as they had.

They both topped off their glasses, savoring a bit more wine. Sarah, toying with the stem of the glass, looked at her friend with hooded eyes. "So...still hanging out with that Steve guy?"

Holly half smiled at that. Given how much she had spent time with him over the last two months, it didn't make sense to hide what she was doing from Sarah. She told her his first name, and that he was a little old-fashioned, but still a sweet person. However, she kept his identity as Captain America a secret; it felt too much like gossiping, or even a little like betrayal, to even consider doing so. If she were him, she wouldn't want her friends always gushing about how she was this famous hero and inviting everyone in the nearby radius to give their exact opinions on what she had done. So he was just Steve, the guy without a Facebook account (Sarah had tried to find him there, only to be met Holly's explanation of, "He's never had one and he doesn't want one," as an excuse).

"Yeah. Ever since he was, you know, let go, his has been an easy schedule to plan around."

That certainly was true; with SHIELD no longer existing, he technically did not have a job any longer. It definitely gave him more time in the real world.

"Not trying to replace me, are you?" Sarah joked in a false suspicious tone.

Tapping a finger against her chin, Holly pretended to give the notion thought before snickering, "Naw, I've put too much work into this friendship already to give it up now."

"Good to hear."

"Yeah."

"You should bring him by sometime, maybe the next time I have people over," Sarah suggested, thinking this was a grand idea. She wanted to meet the guy her best friend couldn't help but mention every time she spoke to her. She wanted to put a face to the name, to essentially examine this new person who'd gotten under her friend's skin. "The more, the merrier, and all that."

Holly hesitated before shaking her head. "I don't know if he could. He's working on a new project, and it could keep him busy for awhile. I haven't heard from him in a few days."

"Hopefully not for too long."

"I don't know," Holly answered honestly, furrowing her brow. Though she had no details, she knew Steve would be well engaged with his "other plans." The importance he'd laid upon them was very apparent to her back when he first mentioned the pursuit, and given that he'd established "radio silence" with her at the moment, she knew he was jumping head first into them. The duration of the endeavor was not hers to speculate on.

"What's wrong, hun?" Sarah inquired, noting her friend's troubled expression. She laid a hand on her shoulder, patting her gently. Holly just shot her another glance, one loaded with words she couldn't articulate, with thoughts she couldn't express.

"I just...I hope that everything goes well for him, that's all," she commented quietly, a finger sliding around the rim of her glass. "He hasn't had the best of luck lately."

_'And that's putting it mildly,'_ her brain supplied as her mouth was occupied with another sip.

Silence engulfed Sarah momentarily, as she could not comment on someone she hadn't even properly met before, or his luck. Instead, she just looked over her friend, watching her gnaw her lip and stare into the middle distance. She could see the worry in Holly's eyes, and knew that she would be turning over the idea over and over in her mind for some time. That did not stop her from speaking her mind on her behavior, at least.

"Don't borrow trouble, Holl. Especially if it's not yours to begin with," she murmured, patting her shoulder once more. Her companion scoffed under her breath, having heard the admonition several times in the past. She held her tongue, keeping her comments locked away.

_'Tell me not to breathe while you're at it,' _sat at the forefront of her mind, but she said nothing.

The worst part of the entire situation, for her at least, was the fact that she knew nothing about what was going on. Oh sure, she had a vague understanding, but she had no honest idea. And the unknown made her a little afraid. She was afraid for all of them; whatever Steve, and most likely Sam as well, was dealing with, it wasn't anything pleasant. He hinted at that himself. And it had the potential to have dire consequences. Or she thought it might; without anything to back up her theory, either good or bad, she was left to imagine worst possible scenarios.

She had joked with Steve, telling him to warn her in case the "other things" would affect her and possibly cause her harm. Now, she wondered if that would actually happen.

It was a scary thought. One that, for once, she could not readily confide to her friend. Sarah didn't need to be brought into her quagmire of fear and frustration. Dwelling on it would not do, either. Downing the rest of her wine in one big gulp, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gestured towards the television.

"Alright, no more borrowing trouble. Let's watch a movie or something," she said, with Sarah agreeing easily. It had already been a long day, with difficult customers and a cranky distributor yanking her and Carl's chains up until the afternoon. It was ideal, coming to Sarah's and watching some terrible guilty pleasure films to take her mind off things. However brief that interlude might be.

**xXxXxXx**

Steve tapped at his computer, his chin in his hand that was propped beside it. He was in the process of converting all the paperwork and notes in the file to a word document, to be saved and pulled up at his convenience later if he needed to do so. He wasn't all too familiar with the feeling of his brain frying on the inside, but after the last couple of hours, he imagined he was beginning to smell smoke as he kept typing, and thinking.

The last couple of days had been spent cracking away at the file, the first step in Steve's plan to locate Bucky...hopefully without much conflict. That was wishful thinking, of course, but although he planned for the worst, he could hope for the best. Between him and Sam, they were determined to split the file in half and work on their separate parts in an effort to speed along the process. So they'd worked, on and off, over several days, trying to make some headway.

He glanced down at the sheet, sitting beside the laptop on the desk. Contemplating it, he pondered the rest of the contents. What he'd read, what he surmised thus far...it was worse than he'd imagined. The first day, when he and Sam had arrived home from the cemetery, he could only get through a few pages before he had to turn away in disgust, leaving it for the next day. Bucky's fortitude, which he knew firsthand to be great, had to have been sorely tried when he was taken by HYDRA.

Torture. Experimentation. That was what he'd gleaned so far, having to walk through the notes in his imperfect understanding of German, and even having to use an online translator for some of them. Some were in English, but far too much of it remained obscure. He reckoned those he could read were not meant to be secret, unlike the others. The Russian notes were something he might try to run by Natasha sometime; his fluency ended at German and French.

A list poked out beneath it, a list of names. His assassinations list, Steve concluded, when he noticed the fresh addition of "Nick Fury" and "Captain America" at the bottom. It was a long one, with names from over the last fifty years, all (except for the last two) truly dead and suspected to be his handiwork. It twisted his stomach, and his heart, to think about how his friend was commanded to carry out those duties, without knowing exactly who he was going after.

"Oh, Buck," he whispered to himself, scanning the page once more and wincing. It was a surgery report, describing the procedure of taking off the remaining, hanging bones and muscle of his arm before his metal arm was attached. "Damn."

Yes, Steve was a soldier. Yes, he'd seen atrocities and death, things an average citizen could never want to see. He'd escorted escaped prisoners of some concentration camps to safety, to freedom, and witnessed the cruelty of man. It didn't make reading what had happened to his best friend any easier to swallow. His past experiences couldn't change the fact that he felt terrible for what had occurred.

Not for the first time, he hated himself for being on ice for seventy years. If he hadn't gone down with the plane, he could have found Bucky, reversed the damage done to him...

_None of that was your fault, Steve, _Natasha's words floated back to him. He sighed; they didn't make him feel any better, no matter if they had the ring of truth. Maybe it wasn't his fault, but it still should not have happened.

His phone lit up then, catching his eye. A new text message came in, penetrating the cocoon of study and preparation he'd built around himself. Despite his want to get as much put into the document as he could that night, he broke off long enough to pick up the device and read the message.

**Hey, haven't heard from you in awhile. Just checking to make sure you're still alive. :)**

In his morbid mood, he shouldn't have found the words even remotely funny. A corner of his mouth lifted slightly, even so. Of course, he mused silently, of course Holly would say something like that. Leaning back in his chair, he drew in a long, deep breath, calming his agitation somewhat.

It should not have happened to Bucky. It should not have happened to anyone. But, God willing, he could stop something like that from happening again.

He would stop any evil force, as best he could, from claiming another of his friends, from taking advantage of someone he cared about.

**Hey. Still alive, Holly, still alive.**

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter could be alternately titled as, "Yes, Holly DOES Have Friends Beside Steve." Or "A Semi-Girly Interlude." Or, "Holly Knows A Lot of People With S-Names." Hahaha...good thing I'm not titling the chapters in that case.

In my mind, Natasha did pull some strings and got that file for him, but I highly doubt it would all be in English, so the first few days have to be dedicated to translating the damn thing before he could begin to even actually comprehend the text.

Soon enough, though, the boys will be shipping out in pursuit of Bucky, and where will that leave Holly? Oh, you'll find out soon enough. I jotted out this chapter fairly quickly, as I'm not sure exactly how this weekend is going to shape out, so here ya go: a chapter a little earlier than normal.

Anyway, thanks for reading, PLEASE REVIEW (I don't mean to beg, but it would be a nice gesture on your part), and I'll see you next time!


	10. Chapter 10

A tap at the office door drew Holly's attention away from the computer screen.

"Yeah, come in," she called, waiting as the door creaked open. Turning to face the caller, she took stock of the person before her. Anna, a girl of middling height and red hair (and a pierced nose, despite Carl's warnings of taking it out while on shift), stood in the frame. She was supposed to be working the register while Holly was typing up the last couple of weeks' reports. Holly had to surmise that something had happened with a customer, since normally she was well-equipped to handle it on her own. "Something wrong, Anna?"

"Nothing's wrong, but, um..." the girl trailed off, her faced tinged crimson. "There's a guy out front who wants to talk to you. Says he knows you."

Holly's eyebrows shot up. Visitors at work, while not entirely rare, did not happen very often. And usually, it was just Sarah popping in to pick her up for an after work drink. Not many guys turned up.

"A guy?" She had an strong idea who it was, but she wanted to be sure.

"Yes," Anna murmured, her gaze turning warm, "he's, he's..."

"Tall? Blue eyes? Built like a brick wall?" she supplied, noting with amusement how quickly Anna had nodded an affirmative.

"Really hot," mumbled the other girl under her breath, causing something to simultaneously twinge Holly's nerves and made her chuckle quietly. Glancing at the clock, Holly figured she could spare the fellow some of her time. It was her good fortune that had Carl out of the building for the afternoon, so he wouldn't be worrying over them in the office.

"Well, I've got a few things to wrap up here. Send him back."

Facing the computer again, she resumed typing as the younger girl dodged back to the front. Holly was clacking away at the last few lines of her report, listening with half an ear as Anna began chatting up the visitor.

"...A student at Washington and Lee. I'm off for the summer, working here part-time."

"Oh, that's good," a well-known voice responded, and Holly's tiny smile grew just a little wider. A second hard knock sounded off her door, and she just glanced over her shoulder this time. Her suppositions were correct: it was Steve Rogers, sans shield and regalia, but Steve nonetheless. The false horn-rim glasses were perched on his face again, this time a hood drawn up over his head as opposed to a ball cap. He shot her an almost apologetic smile, as if he were sorry to be interrupting her work.

"Here he is," Anna announced unnecessarily, standing against the door so that he would have to squeeze past her to get inside the office. Off that blatant and brazen move, Holly shot her a sharp glance and a frown. Steve, looking askance at Anna for a second, attempted to maneuver around her swiftly and with minimal contact.

"Thank you," he said, maintaining a polite demeanor as he sat down in the single visitor's chair.

"Yes, thanks, Anna," Holly concurred, softening her expression somewhat. No need to appear petty or harsh. "Please shut the door."

Anna, looking for all the world like she wished she could trade places with the upper management just for this moment, nodded to them both. She reserved the warm smile solely for Steve, though, as she did as she was told. When the door eventually clicked into place, Holly minimized her document before spinning her desk chair to face him fully.

Steve pushed the hood of his sweatshirt back, which she thought was a bold move for the end of May. How he wasn't sweating to death, she didn't know. As he removed the glasses and pocketed them, she could see the exhaustion on his face. His project had clearly kept him busy, and was wearing him out. Maybe not overly much (he could probably still run circles around her, even at his most sleep-deprived), but the faint smudges under his eyes were a testament to his overlong dedication.

"Hey there, stranger," she teased him, as she had not seen him in person for a couple weeks. "Don't you look all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed today."

The sardonic smirk he shot her did not go unnoticed. "Aren't you sweet."

"Sometimes," she returned, reaching out and tapping him on the shoulder playfully. "It's good to see you."

His smirk became a little more genuine, as he responded in kind. She shrugged it off, though secretly she was very pleased to have him there. "And how's your erstwhile roommate?"

The discussion of Sam (yes, he was doing alright, and yes, he was still seeing the girl from the front desk—he was actually out with her at the moment) eventually deviated to the events of the week prior. Much of her time was split between work and a little research for her book, and fielding phone calls from her family. He mother and father were beginning to implore her to move home, not for the first time, and she uttered frustration at that. Her companion, allowing her to work off the steam, interjected very little. Steve let her talk and type, as she needed to wrap up her report swiftly, and she could work and talk at the same time. Although he did express interest in her novel idea; it was the first he'd heard anything concrete about the subject. She, like other people he knew, could be vague about subjects close to her, when she wanted to be. (When he inquired after the character's special abilities, she gave him a wry grin and chuckled, saying that the girl was no super soldier, that was for sure.)

And when she expressed her parents' concerns about her welfare and their begging for her to relocate, she had her back turned to him, and therefore did not see the fleeting frown that flitted across his features. It disappeared, though, the moment she lifted her hands from the keyboard, clicking the save and print buttons and whirling around to face him again.

"Something," she started, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, "tells me that you're in my neck of the woods for something other than chitchat."

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the right. "So quick to assume..."

Her own eyebrows raised minutely. "Am I wrong?"

"...Not entirely."

Holly held back on her triumphant smirk, instead turning to catch the papers coming out of the printer to her left. "That's what I thought. So what's up?"

He sighed,"Well, I needed a break from the office myself."

Just as she thought; he'd been buried under his personal project for quite awhile. She snorted, crossing her arms. "You're no desk jockey."

"Only when necessary," he commented, a tad bitterly. That drew her gaze back to him, the levity slipping away. Steve cast a long glance at her, inhaling deeply before starting again. "I do have a reason to see you, aside from conversation."

Holly did not reply, but sat perched on the edge of her seat and waited.

"Sam and I will be leaving intermittently over the next few months," he murmured, raking a hand through his hair. She blinked, the surprise on her face evident. "At least, that's the plan."

"...Oh." She wasn't sure how to respond to that, at least not verbally. The tiny twist in her chest and the confusion in her brain, however, were her private indication of how she felt about it. Not that she'd give them voice, no. Rather, she fixed her eyes into a curious squint and asked, "How soon will you be leaving?"

"In a couple days. The...project I've been working on, we've been able to decipher enough of it to get started," Steve said. "First trip is up to Brooklyn, but after...we'll be going much farther."

A breath of a laugh escaped her lips. "So that's where the pension will definitely come in handy. Pays for the transportation."

Steve nodded, shrugging his shoulders in brief good humor. To have the government continue his pay from his service to SHIELD, and from his past as a national icon, was a good thing. Yet another thing to thank Nick Fury for, he mused privately. "Helps that they owe me a few favors, too."

"And here my summer plans consisted of binge-watching movies and getting a tan," she quipped, her tone partly serious.

"Hardly something you need in the first place," he commented. Privately, he thought she looked good enough to go without.

"Because winter pallor is so pretty." Turning the joke aside, she ruminated for a moment. "And, where do I enter this equation exactly?"

Pausing again, he reconsidered his response. He did not want to go through with it, but he was already there. "We wanted to know if you'd be interested in periodically house-sitting."

Her eyebrows quirked so quickly together it was almost comical. That was it? That's what was so important that he had to come across the city to discuss with her? To get the mail, and water the plants, and anything else that needed to be taken care of while they were away?

Part of her felt a little offended, but she chided herself soon enough for hoping for...something more. But come on, what else could he have asked her to do? Uproot herself to come along for the ride? To play at being a sidekick to two very capable people? That smacked of poorly-written fiction, and she knew herself well enough to know that whatever Steve and Sam would be investigating, she would be of no benefit tagging along. A few self-defense courses and experiences in youth softball (and therefore with baseball bats) did not make one threatening, overall.

"Okay..." she said, drawing out the word.

'_Why?'_ her brain whispered.

As if Steve could hear her thoughts, he told her, "We trust you to take care of things."

Thinking hard, Holly had to agree it made sense for them to ask. She was the best one situated to do so, being in permanent residence and a short driving distance away. After all, she knew both men, knew that they wouldn't want their privacy molested. And, she reasoned, they both really didn't have anyone else to ask for help; God knew where Natasha was, even if she was open to the suggestion of watching the place, and it wasn't likely they would be okay with some random service poking around. The fact that they (more specifically, Steve) expressed trust in her capacities was not something to sneeze at, either.

"That's all, then?" she prompted him, going off the thoughtful glance he shot her, "Or not?"

_'There has to be a reason why he didn't just call me, there has to be.'_

Slowly, carefully, Steve sat up and reached into his pocket. A folded piece of paper was in his hand, and after pondering it for a second, he handed it to her. A little perturbed, she turned the sheet over in her hand, opening it to reveal a copy of a photograph. It was of a grainy quality, in black and white, but the fellow qualities were barely muted by the medium. He had (she assumed) light-colored eyes, his dark hair hidden beneath a cap. The uniform he was wearing was cut off by the picture's border, but that hardly registered.

What she fixated on was his face. His very familiar face. She'd seen it before, in the museum. _In memorium..._

"Your friend," Holly breathed, trying to recall the name "James Something, right?"

"James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky," Steve confirmed. "You've seen him before."

It wasn't really a question, but she felt like she had to answer it. "Well, yeah, I mean, I did a little research-"

"No, I meant in person."

A denial sat on the tip of her tongue; he was supposed to be long dead, after all. But as she looked longer at the picture, she felt a spark, the thoughts connecting. A flash passed, her memory bringing forth a young man by the river, his arm encased in metal, and his matted long hair framing this same face. Those same eyes.

She gasped; she _did_ know him.

He was the man, the man who pointed out Steve to her, the one who vanished out of her path as swiftly as he'd entered it. If she had had the will, she would've shot out of her chair, to pace and think. But...but...how?

"Holly...I'm looking for him. He's...he's had awful things done to him, things I could've..." Steve stopped himself, biting back the strong guilt. Holly just sat there, stunned. "He survived his fall, like me. But what was done to him made him dangerous. I want to find him and, I don't know, get him back to what he used to be."

Shaking her head once, as if to pull herself out of a trance, she wondered, "Why tell me this?"

"Because," Steve let out in a rush, "in the unlikely event he turns up on the doorstep, you deserve to know exactly who you're facing."

In the silence, Holly began to wrestle with her inner turmoil. This, this right here, was one of the issues of being close to a superhero: the likelihood of potential danger to anyone associated with them, no matter how insignificant they thought themselves. Granted, she had no idea the depth of Bucky's transformation, but the intimidation and fear he instilled in her just by crossing her path made her wary of coming in contact with him again. And she didn't like the odds, unspecified though they were; if he did show up on the doorstep, what was to stop him from harming her, just because she was helping Steve?

Well,_ shit._

_'You put your trust in him to be honest with you about any danger, and he has been,' _she grasped with sudden clarity. _'He's kept his promise, no matter if you were kidding at the time.'_

It wouldn't do to lie; she wasn't the bravest, nor the smartest person in the world. She wasn't a tactician or a trained agent. But she knew exactly what she was, and what she could offer: her time, her word. Because she was a friend of a superhero. Because she did care about the man behind the shield, and she knew he would do what he could to keep her safe, even at a distance, because of that. Forewarned was forearmed, and she did have options to protect herself. And after the events two months ago, she'd kept 911 on speed dial.

Making up her mind, she cleared her throat. "I can do it. You said 'unlikely,' right?"

That startled a chuckle out of him, even as his face remained serious. "Yes, I did say that."

"Then...yeah, okay, I can house-sit for you guys when you need it."

Inclining his head, his lips curled into a grateful grin. "I appreciate it. I'll let you know before we leave."

On impulse, she scooted forward in the chair, pulling up closer to Steve. Throwing her arms around his neck, she held on tightly as he returned the hug, albeit a tad awkwardly. The fear she'd been pressing back seemed to surge into her arms, making her grip stronger. If he got himself deep in trouble, she couldn't imagine what she would do or think. Holly didn't want to even consider it.

"Be careful out there, Steve," she whispered. He gave her no verbal reassurance, knowing as well as she that he had no control over the outcome of events. Still, one of his hands reached up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers gently settling there to calm her. He would do what he could.

'_Well then,' _Holly mused wryly to herself, '_Guess I'll be picking up a new baseball bat after work. A strong, metal one.'_

* * *

**A/N:** ...Did I overdo the drama on this one? Perhaps, but hey, it is what it is.

No, Holly is decidedly _not_ going to tag along on the trip(s) that Steve and Sam will be taking. But (and I'm sure it's fairly obvious) this is not the end of Holly and Steve's relationship. And now there is the chance for Steve to begin his search and reach a better understanding of the world that he now inhabits.

Washington and Lee (not its full title) is an actual college out in Virginia, about three hours out of DC. Just putting it out there.

Anyway, a shorter chapter this time, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. I'll see you guys next time; thanks for reading, and PLEASE REVIEW. Please? Reviews make the world go 'round...


	11. Chapter 11

A crowd had formed in front of the building to his left, eagerly waiting to pay their fare to get in to the site. They were congregated in front of the set of stairs, sturdy metal replacing the wooden stairs and landing he'd once known. It wasn't every day, after all, that they had a chance to get into Captain America's old home in Brooklyn. The marker out front, shining in the sunlight, listed some factoids, such as his birth, how the neighborhood had been in his day, and how he'd come to spend his hours playing in the streets with his childhood friend. However, he was not captivated as the crowd was, and he certainly was not in the line to get inside the old apartment building.

It would be a cold day in hell before Steve Rogers paid money to get into his old home, for any reason. Instead, he stood a little off to the side, resting against the brick wall of the next-door apartment complex. Hair tucked under a ball cap, and a set of aviator shades covering his eyes, he also sported a jacket despite the early June weather. It was easier to hide his shield harness underneath with it. His shield, resting on the ground beside him, the inner half facing out so that it resembled something like a trash can lid. Half in the shadows, nobody really looked at him twice while he pretended to be fiddling with his phone, like so many other young men nowadays. In reality, he was observing both the crowd and the inaction across the street, waiting for an opportunity.

As he and Sam had discussed, they had agreed Brooklyn would be the starting point in their pursuit of Bucky. And to that end, they'd gotten themselves a flight under the guise of personal recreation (after landing, he sent a text to Holly, letting her know they landed safely and to give the house a once-over while they were out. She would get back to him eventually well after the day's discoveries. Thus far, all was quiet; she and her bat had made the rounds as asked. He'd snorted at that and commended her bat's abilities). On the off-chance that Bucky's building had been purchased and renovated, he would have to secure permission from the current tenants to enter, or at least ask them about anyone unusual coming or going. As such, it was still deserted, the current property owner having jettisoned off to Florida as far as anyone knew.

The old tenement sagged, a boarded eyesore in the midst of the otherwise maintained neighborhood. Spray-paint tags littered the brick, some posted bills were ripped and tattered on the locked doors. It didn't surprise him that the old building was condemned; there never was an outcry to "save the James Buchanan Barnes house." It still made him feel sad, though. A lot of good times had happened there...some were awful, but this still was an integral part of his childhood. Bucky's home was his, too, in a way. He took in a deep breath, closing his eyes as the memories washed over him.

"_Come on, Stevie! Stop flinching when I throw the ball!" a boy hollered, swiping the dark hair out of his eyes and laughing as he did so._

_Another boy, blonde and skinny, squared his shoulders and shot back, "The last time it almost hit me in the face, Bucky!"_

_It was near dark, though the streetlights were not on yet. They were playing catch, tossing the ball back and forth, the mitts on their hands worn hand-me-downs from Bucky's older brothers. Occasionally a car needed to get by, and they'd abandon the street to let it pass. Soon enough, they would be back in the road, too far from the park and too little daylight left for them to make the trek to play there. Besides which, both of their mothers would have their heads if they wandered too far. _

"_Keep your mitt up and it won't get near your face. It ain't a bean bag, buddy," Bucky countered, pointedly tossing the ball gently into his friend's waiting glove. "Just showing you how it's done!"_

"_I'll show you how it's done," Stevie muttered grumpily, though it was belied by the amused expression. Rolling it his hand for a moment, he drew back his arm and, with all his eight-year-old strength, winged the ball back at him. It arched high, traveling farther than any of the others he'd made before. As Bucky ran hard to catch it, Stevie felt himself smile broadly._

"_My best throw," he murmured, just as Bucky caught it and whooped. And it was; he'd never thrown it that far before. Granted, it wasn't like he'd become Lou Gehrig or something in that moment, but he was proud. And Bucky was right there with him. His friend, beaming so bright one would've thought he'd made the throw._

"_Yes! That's what I'm talking about, Stevie!"_

"We going in?" Sam's voice cut through the memory, banishing it back to the corners of Steve's mind. He was dressed down as well, a t-shirt and jeans combination with an old backpack hanging from his shoulders. The other man had been waiting slightly behind him, watching for any activity in the road or from the tenants next door. So far nothing. Opening his eyes, he cut his gaze to his companion.

"Hold on," he replied, discreetly pulling up the digital face and watch it switch to two o'clock. Right on the dot, the front door opened, allowing the gathered group of families, couples, and the occasional teenager skipping school to slip into the Captain America house. As they filed in one by one, it was only a short time later that the tour guide firmly shut the door. The passersby, the few that were out, were more absorbed in their own pursuits, barely tossing a glance at either man. Pocketing his phone, he grabbed his shield and stepped out of the shadows.

"Okay, let's go."

Gesturing, he let Sam precede him across the street. Blinking, he exhaled and followed, shaking his head as he glimpsed the surrounding buildings and cars again. Nobody remarked on them going by.

Yes, the neighborhood had changed, even further from where it was two years ago. It was one of the first places he visited after waking up; he had to see what had happened to his home. It was something of a shock for his apartment to have become a national landmark, and he was overwhelmed by the people who had recognized him that day, taking him room by room as though he'd never been there before.

Maybe they saw it as a great publicity stunt, or even a kindness to him, but Steve was not pleased with that attention and so had not returned since. Not even after the attack on the city; if it had collapsed in a pile of rubble after the Chitauri stormed through, then it was rubble, and there wasn't much he would be able to do about it. It had survived, becoming a sort of shrine to the returned hero in the days that followed, and he definitely steered clear of it afterward. It was unnerving, having all his personal items on display and treated like relics of a bygone era. The fact that they were, in a way, was even more unsettling. For unlike the spectators, the bygone era for him had only felt like it was yesterday. So he tamped down the memories and stayed away.

Things were different today. The objective to return to the old neighborhood was different.

It was the stepping stone, two years ago, to bridging the gap between the years and understanding how the world had viewed him after his actions, and how it had changed in his absence.

For Bucky, it could be seen as the first step in the path to piecing together the truth. Granted, it was only strong suspicion (and intuition, if he were being honest) that brought him and Sam to the neighborhood, but it stood to reason to at least investigate. If he were to have been there, he might successfully gauge the path of his past friend, catch him before he got too many steps ahead.

Or at least, before the inevitable fall-out happened. Having no personal experience, he could imagine the psychological damage that would occur when his old pal discovered the truth about his brainwashing and how many innocent people died by his unknowing hand. He shouldn't have to go through that alone.

As they could not be seen entering a condemned building in broad daylight, Steve and Sam had to find an alternative route into Bucky's old home. Night investigation had been discussed, but was ultimately rejected for the fact that two men lurking around a building at night would draw more attention to what they were doing. Skirting around the corner, they darted down the alley to get to the back of the tenement.

"He lived on the second floor, right?" Sam asked, looking at the smashed glass dubiously.

"Towards the front," Steve confirmed, scanning for an decent entrance point. There were a few planked windows on the ground level, a couple panes broken out by vandals in the past. It would be a gamble treading up to the apartment on the main entrance's rickety staircase, but the odds were against them scaling the building elsewhere. It had to be quick, otherwise the neighbors would suspect something. One of the windows down the row had three boards across it, but it looked like the glass beneath it had been completely obliterated. He nodded to it. "That one."

Without needing to be told, Sam led the way, helping Steve pry off each board and laying them gently on the ground. The last hanging shards crashed at their feet as they did so, glass specks bouncing harmlessly off their boots. Taking the backpack off, Sam dug into it and removed two face masks, reminiscent of gas masks. When Steve had illustrated the plan to him some days ago, he'd spoken with an old buddy who worked on restoring aged buildings who could help him procure the proper equipment. Scoring the masks was necessary, especially for a building of pre-1970's construction ("It's definitely an asbestos trap. No thanks," Sam had groused). Once they were secured over their noses and mouths, the two men went in. Climbing through first, the younger man began to fish his phone out of his pocket.

"Little dark in here," he supplied needlessly, as Steve had been right on his heels and was submerged in the hazy afternoon darkness as well. His voice was muffled a little by the mask, and his breathing was much more obvious. Pulling it out, the screen bathed his face in an unnatural glow as he tapped through the apps. The front-facing light disappeared soon enough, replaced by a solitary beam. "Better."

Slinging his shield onto his back, removing his jacket to have better access to the harness, Steve began to move in the light's path. "Careful, the floor looks rotten."

Slowly, they moved through the abandoned space, which had once been a kitchen (going off the dirty fridge and the busted stove pushed in a corner). Eventually, they found the hall door, going single file down towards the front lobby and the landing. It all looked untouched, save for whatever had fallen from the floors above over the last several years. There were no shoe prints in the dust, none that weren't buried in the decay for some time. The old staircase looming before them was warped with age, the steps either rotted or missing. It could collapse any second; it was a miracle it was still standing to begin with.

Sam coughed. "So who's going first?"

Steve looked at him, the light in the hall a little better. The lower half of his partner's face was obscured, but he could tell that he was pulling a frown behind it. Turning back to look at the staircase, he shrugged.

"Well, I could pull rank and seniority..."

"You know what they say: age before beauty," Sam riposted, his eyes creasing at the corners in amusement. Steve, despite the seriousness of the situation, felt his shoulders shake as he suppressed self-deprecating laughter.

"You weigh less. It's less likely to break under you," the captain shot back. That was true, as the elder soldier outweighed his compatriot by forty pounds, give or take a few. "Better to have at least one of us up there without too much difficulty."

Sam sighed inaudibly; what was said was true. Arguing would do them no good. Hesitantly, he placed his right foot on the first step. Over his shoulder, he muttered, "Well, if I don't make it, tell my mom I loved her."

Steve rolled his eyes, and watched warily as Sam edged ever-so-slowly up the second and third steps. "Plant your feet on the outer edges. They might be a little more stable than the center."

"Gotcha, Cap." He moved like a turtle covered in molasses, but he did follow the advice given. A hand was firmly planted on the flaking inner wall, steadying him as he climbed. With every creak and groan causing a fresh wave of alarm to speed through his veins, he at length reached the upstairs landing. Both he and Steve breathed a sigh of relief.

If Sam moved like a molasses-covered turtle, then Steve was more akin to a sloth in January as he made his way up. Bracing himself, the stairs creaked even louder under his weight. In fact, he felt a few boards splinter, causing him to push his shoulder into the wall to take some of the pressure off. With hindsight, it might have been better to find an alternate route upstairs, but he'd already committed to this course, and he was going to see it through.

Four stairs away from the landing, his entire leg went through the step. Flailing, he grabbed onto the deteriorating banister as Sam clattered down to catch him. Grabbing him under the arms, the younger man helped pull his leg out of the hole, the staircase swaying. Unspoken agreement led the two men to charge up the last steps haphazardly, feet becoming lighter than air as the boards snapped and cracked. They both hit the deck on the landing as the top half of the stairwell broke away from its supports, the wood clattering down to the floor. Dust shot up in the air, stinging their eyes, but both men were otherwise unharmed.

"Not getting out that way," Steve muttered, unconsciously borrowing the words from something. Sam shook his head in agreement. After a moment or two spent listening to see if any of the neighbors or pedestrians had heard the noise and called the police, they took the silence as reassurance to continue. Leading the way, the captain kept getting more flashes of memory. One was of taking Bucky's skates for a test run down the hall, and incidentally tumbling down the same stairs. Another was him having an asthma attack, Bucky staying by his side and keeping him calm while he rode it out. Many, however, coalesced into a single remembrance: walking through the door, Bucky at his side, the entire Barnes family greeting him as he came in. The sense of family and love flooded into him as he turned the knob gently, easing the door back and revealing just what had happened to his second home.

Shock had hit him hard; it was a disaster. It was one thing to expect decay and mess, but another to physically see it in front of you. Everything that had made it familiar, made it a home, was gone. All the furniture, the belongings...the people, they had disappeared. Numbly, he moved to one side, side-stepping out of habit to avoid an ottoman that was no longer there.

"There was a couch there," he said, as Sam walked into the space. "Used to bunk down, make a fort out of it sometimes. The radio was over there."

Bucky's brothers had always elbowed them away from the knobs, in the nature of all older brothers. However, they got their own back when Mrs. Barnes would swat the backs of their head, telling them to be nicer to the boys lest they incur her wrath. A lump formed in Steve's throat; Mrs. Barnes had always been a warm, caring woman. It was too bad she was gone. Her, her boys, her little girl...Swallowing past it, Steve cast his eye around the living room. Swirling motes were caught in the light coming through the grimy windows. At least those weren't boarded up, and Sam was able to save his phone's battery without using the light.

"Are we looking for anything specific?" Sam wondered, putting the aforementioned phone away. Steve nodded, clearing his throat and pointing at the backpack.

"We need to see if we've been the only ones here. Check the front pocket, you'll find something that will help."

Delving into the bag again, Sam withdrew a pair of sunglasses, with red lenses and a remote touch pad accompanying it. Staring at the objects for a few seconds, he put the shades on. Instantly they reacted, turning on and providing a structural scan of the room. "Woah."

"When I started with SHIELD, they gave me a pair. Every agent had one for processing data overseas. I sent it off to Stark, thought he might be interested in it, or at least he'd get the bugs out. He sent them back, with a lot of extra tweaks. Said they should work better."

Sam grinned, cautiously tapping along the touch pad. The computer links showed up on the glasses, and he gasped, "This is hooked up to the international criminal database."

Steve smirked. "Among other things. I think Stark was hoping I would wear them on assignment, so he could see what SHIELD was up to. Any recorded data is backed up on its own hard drive, I think he said. Too bad for him I hated the damn things. Gave me headaches."

"This is some _Heavy Rain_ stuff, man," his companion remarked. Off the captain's confused look, he waved a free hand dismissively. "Video game reference, sorry. More like an interactive movie, depending on how you look at it. Holly hasn't told you about that one?"

"She watches actual movies. So surprisingly enough, no."

"If she goes through my collection at home, she'll find it," he remarked. "Anyway, to explain: one of the characters in the game worked for the FBI. He had glasses and a glove that worked to read prints and process crime scenes."

"Probably where SHIELD got the inspiration to make them." Steve raised an eyebrow to himself. "They've borrowed ideas before."

"And I assume you want me to use them like they did."

"...Yes. I want you to see if you can spot anything out of the ordinary."

"And what will you be doing?"

Steve grimaced. "I'm going to see if anything's missing. Call out what you find."

"But how would you know..." Sam trailed off as his friend walked away, moving determinedly towards the back rooms. Letting it go, he focused on his brand-new equipment. "Okay, let's see..."

The words bounced around Steve's head as Sam made his observations, the well of hope rising with each. Forced entry, back window in the kitchen. Had to have scaled the building, puncture points where a grappling hook latched onto the brick. Disturbed dust and scrapes across the floor indicated that it had been pushed out of the way recently. Drop of blood on the sill, must have pierced a hand on the glass. It looks relatively new, probably a few weeks old...any prints left behind were not a match in the database. Not a shock, since he was thought to be a ghost story for so long. Scanned for future analysis and tracking. Hey, it was possible to check email at the same time as reconstructing the scene, did he know that? He said nothing to all this, choosing instead to tread lightly down to the back bedroom.

Once Bucky had shared it with his brother Bram, the two brothers desperate to keep their separate spaces. There was always some inadvertent mix-up of toys or books, or trading cards, and both of them would be at each others' necks. One day, he resolved to keep his best hidden away from Bram, in an old tin.

"_Bring your best stuff too, Steve. Like our Gehrig and Ruth cards, and anything else. We'll keep them safe." The twelve-year-old was tickled pink by the idea, and wanted his friend to share in it, too._

"_Like a time capsule?" Steve had read about some professors at universities doing something like that, preserving things from their time to be found and looked at a hundred years from then. It seemed so grown-up to do that sort of thing. _

_Bucky's eyes lit up. "Exactly! We'll put it here in the floor, come back for it when we're old, fat, married guys and Bram can't get his hands on it."_

_Steve laughed, "I don't think I'll ever be fat; nothing I eat ever sticks to me, Mom says. You might be, though."_

_Buck shoved him playfully on the shoulder. "Shut up! You watch, you'll be the fattest guy ever! You'll see. Anyway, you in?"_

_Steve thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, okay. Let's do it"._

"Tracks lead from the window to the living room. They stop...where you did, before heading down the hall."

Steve knelt on the floor in the old bedroom, the possessions gone and the floor warped and bitten up, dirt encrusted in the boards.

"_I'm adding to the box before I go. My papers. So I can show them to my grandkids. Or at least for you to show to yours, in case I..."_

"_Don't talk like that, Buck. You'll show them yourself."_

All except for one board, cleaner than the rest. He lifted it easily, the nails already pried away. And below...

The tin was gone. The trading cards, the old photos, Bucky's papers, everything they'd pooled together taken away. He reached in, combing his fingers over lower board and the muck gathered there. Brushing against a thick wad of what he could only assume was a rat's nest, a yellow edge appeared.

"They came through here, stopped where you are and then..." Sam paused, staring into the hole that Steve was transfixed on, before continuing, "they went out that window behind you. The boot prints are approximately about his size, but for all we know it could have just been some punk kid way too into Parkour."

"It was him."

Sam lifted the glasses off his face, concerned. "And you know this how?"

Steve withdrew his hand from the hole, a weathered piece of paper in it. Upon closer inspection, it had a design of a three of clubs, and Lou Gehrig's picture. A baseball card. One that should never have left the tin, and hadn't since the day Steve and Bucky put it there.

"Because of this."

_And he knows he's being followed. Or expects to be followed. But whether it's a taunt or encouragement, I can't tell, _he mused, rising slowly to look out the shattered window, the sun sliding lower in the sky. _I'm sure we'll find out soon enough._

* * *

**A/N:** Long chapter is long. And hopefully not too boring.

I personally have not played _Heavy Rain, _but I have seen walkthroughs where the FBI character has a device like that. And yeah, in the Marvel universe, a pair of glasses like that does not seem like a stretch. We need to give Sam something to do instead of just being the backup. (Tony has improved them, for sure. Just FYI.)

No Holly (save by brief mention) this time around, but I'm sure you aren't objecting too heavily. We'll see her next time.

By the way: you all came out in force last time, with your reviews and your kind words/follow/favorites of encouragement. It really warmed my heart, and makes me so glad that you all are keeping up with this story. Thank you all so much.

So, anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next time!


	12. Chapter 12

A brief trek down the Atlantic corridor to Bucky's training base yielded very little by the way of results; as the base was still in operation, there was not much Steve and Sam could uncover without drawing attention to themselves. Steve dissembled, claiming that he was searching for a friend who'd been involved in the aftermath of the D.C. disaster, saying that he'd last heard he'd lived in the area and might have been around the base. The officers in charge, upon recognizing both captain and companion, were willing to provide any information necessary, so long as they did a meet-and-greet with the stationed troops. In between the photo opportunities and the handshaking, the colonel there revealed that a man fitting the description of Bucky had been spotted lurking around the base a week or two prior. Thought he was just some punk looking to cause trouble at first, but he kept his distance. Except once; camera surveillance showed a hooded man darting about the grounds one night, but the alarms had sounded and he disappeared without a trace. They hadn't seen hide or tail of him since.

"That's still something," Sam said, not overly cheerful but looking optimistic. Steve said nothing, but the hard set of his jaw was enough of an opinion on the subject.

The pair resigned themselves to returning home for a spell. Sam could only take so much time off from the VA every month, and Steve was, as he was a little perturbed to find, unwilling to venture forth without an ally at his back. He had thought he would not require any assistance in pursuing Bucky; as it turned out, he found some small comfort in having someone there to cover him, to help him along the way. Proceeding without Sam was too much like rushing headlong into an open field. Then would be the most likely time he'd be shot. Hopefully not literally. If Bucky truly suspected that he was being followed, so much the better to not be hounding his trail constantly. Whatever made him less hostile.

It also gave Steve time between calling in favors. Too many calls in too short a space? Not ideal, for anybody. Rousing more suspicion at this point was not something he wanted to contend with.

That in mind, he found that he could not simply sit around the house, waiting. Bucky's file was there, mocking him for not being as dedicated, for not being as great and good, as everyone thought he was. Two days after returning, two evenings really, Steve was clattering down the front steps, phone in hand, and jumping on his new motorcycle (an apology gift from the bigwigs for destroying his other one. He'd rather liked that bike, too, and it was a shame to have it banged up beyond repair). Sam, on a video call with the girl from reception (Tori, he thought he heard he called), shot him a questioning look as he swept out the door. He didn't trail after him, in any case. After punching in the correct numbers, he waited until the call was picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, you." Holly's voice came over the line, sounding pleased. They'd kept in contact while he was gone, trading texts when they had the time (which had Steve marveling at his growing prowess at doing so. Sure, it was still a bit of hunt-and-peck, but it didn't take him long just to say hello anymore). Primarily the conversation consisted of little shots about the day's actions and effects upon their separate lives, with an end discussion of when he would be coming home. There had been some talk about meeting up after they'd returned, but she didn't push it. Whenever he could, she'd said, and left it at that.

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn't indulge in a full smile. Well, he could now.

"Hi."

Something in his tone must have sounded hollow, or a little bit off, because concern entered her voice when she spoke again. "You okay? What's up?"

_'Not really,' _his brain supplied. To her, he said, "Are you busy right now?"

A brief pause came, broken swiftly by Holly's answer. "No, I'm not busy."

"I'm, uh, I'm ready. To meet up, I mean," he said, immediately chiding himself for stumbling over his words. He thought he'd gotten past that. He sighed, "If you have the time."

Her chuckle was very soft, as if she didn't want to offend him by finding his blundering humorous. "Like I said, I'm free. Got any ideas about what you'd like to do?"

"Not sure...just, something." Steve couldn't stay home, couldn't think there. And being alone, while not a foreign concept by any means, was not something he wanted at the moment.

"Well, come on over to my place, then. We'll figure it out from there."

The sun had sunk a little lower by the time he'd arrived at Holly's apartment complex. She'd met him outside, hand raised in happy greeting and a smile on her face. As he pulled the bike into the free parking space, she'd sauntered up to him her eyebrows quirking together.

"So it's you, me, and the shield, then, huh?" she queried, the corners of her mouth twitching up. He looked backwards, groaning under his breath; it was second nature to him to bring it nearly everywhere, even after falling out of the habit for a few weeks. During his weeks of enforced hiding, he'd kept it at home, safe in anonymity. He'd thought he'd left it at home this time, but no, there it was attached to a side harness on the motorcycle. But, he rationalized; he didn't want to take any chances without it. Not now, not with her.

"The almost-literal third wheel," he joked, laying his palm along the curve of it. Holly came forward, slipping her arms around him for a hug. She squeezed hard, glad to have him back safely for a time, and he reciprocated, albeit much gentler than her.

Pulling away, she continued to stare at it, hesitating. "Can I…can I touch it?"

Steve blinked, a little nonplussed by her request. Then again, he thought, she'd never actually gotten anywhere near the shield before this day, and it was natural for her to be curious. "Sure."

Sidestepping him, she crouched down, running her fingers over the painted bands before setting her hand flush against the star. A mixture of awe and delight came over her face, infectious to the point of bringing a tiny grin to his lips. "This is so cool. I'm touching history."

"Most girls would be impressed with the bike first," Steve said, kicking down the stand and getting off the vehicle. Holly smiled wide, her eyes glittering in the low sunlight.

"Yeah, well, never said I was like most girls, did I?" She rose up, standing straight. "It looks heavy."

Steve shook his head. "It's lighter than you think."

"Really." She shook her head, doubtful.

"Twelve pounds."

The look she threw him was skeptical; how could that disk be that light? Slowly, her eyes flicked from his to the shield and back, holding an unspoken question. In answer, he motioned with a free hand: _pick it up, see for yourself._ It wasn't like she was going to run off with it, and he trusted her to be careful. Not that she'd be able to damage it, but he knew that she'd treat it with respect.

As she pulled it free from its harness, he noticed that she had spread her legs and braced herself for the weight. The shocked expression she sported a second later made Steve snap his mouth shut on a laugh. She'd hauled boxes to the back room at work that were nearly triple the weight of the thing. After a moment, he told her about the shield properties, the vibranium alloy making it one of the strongest and lightest metals on Earth. She nodded, but he couldn't be sure she was processing what he'd said.

And in truth, she was; at least, she was backlogging what he said. Holly was taken aback by the shield, the ultimate symbol of her friend's superhero status. It had survived a world war, freezing Arctic temperatures, an alien invasion, and numerous missions and attacks. She wasn't one for weaponry or defensive items, but _damn_ this was cool.

Flipping it over smoothly, she slipped one arm into the inner holsters, loose on her less-muscled arm. Tightening her grip, she lifted it up in a defensive stance, trying to look heroic as she did so. Her exultation rather ruined the impression, she figured, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"What do you think?" she asked eagerly, unknowingly mirroring something Steve himself had said long ago, and triggering a sense of déjà vu in him. In her shorts and t-shirt, her Converse shoes on and her hair pulled into short braids, she hardly cut an impressive figure. "Totally fearsome, right?"

Shaking his head, partly to dispel the old memories, he smirked at her. "Hitler would be trembling."

That was such a gross exaggeration of possibilities that Holly couldn't help but snicker. Taking the shield off her arm, she proffered it back to its owner. "Yeah, from holding the laughter. Now, it's seven in the evening. What does the guy who supposedly punched out _der Fuehrer_ himself eight hundred times want to do?"

Steve shrugged, ignoring the poor German and not having really thought beyond the point of getting there to see her. "Don't know. Just needed to get out for awhile."

Taking that in, she couldn't blame him. There had to be a lot on his mind at present, and sitting and stewing never did anybody any good.

"Well, the Mall is open all day. We could walk for a bit. Walk, not run," she amended, earning a sharp glance from her companion. "You start running, I'll never catch up."

He agreed, as it was something to do, at least. She motioned for him to follow her to her car, which he did. The shield could come with that way, and be left somewhere safe for the time being while they walked. Riding passenger, he gazed out the window for a few long moments, listening to the music playing softly. Piano covers of Broadway musicals, she'd told him before popping it in and switching to a calm track. Silence fell over them as she drove, until another thought occurred to him.

"'Supposedly?'" Steve grunted, turning his head and catching her struggling to hide her giggles.

"There's this saying that's been going around for awhile: 'take pictures or it never happened,'" she said by way of explanation. "There aren't any pictures of you really hitting Hitler, except for those old cartoons. So..."

Her gaze flicked over at him briefly, in time to see him pull a face and roll his eyes. But the tell-tale half grin he sported told her all she needed to know, and so she returned her attention to the road. They swung through a McDonald's drive-through, picking up shakes to enjoy on their outing. There was little good-natured arguing over who would pick up the tab, but Holly firmly offered to pay. They were just milkshakes, she'd told him, and it wouldn't do any harm for it to be her treat this time. He took it with good grace, and tucked in with gusto. It amused her to know that even the largest size wouldn't put a dent in Steve's hunger. If there was anyone who perfectly fit the term of "bottomless pit" it would be him. Dang freaky fast metabolism.

Finding some parking proved a bit tricky, but with relative ease they found themselves striding towards the National Mall. The reflecting pool shimmered between the monuments as they prepared to take a couple laps around it.

_'It really is pretty here, during the summer,' _Holly thought, sucking down some of her vanilla shake. _'Better when you have good company.'_

And Steve was good company, even if he was at sixes and sevens, as her old English professor might have said. The back-and-forth chatting helped her, too, in a way. Steve was a good listener, a very valuable trait to have, she supposed, for someone who spent his life on guard and watching out for others. He wouldn't have gotten very far if he didn't take the time to hear what was going on around him. Although she conceded that he probably didn't anticipate listening to her knotty characterization problems, he was still a good sport about it. And she liked hearing him speak, too, when his turn came. She always did like his voice, deep and honest, with a touch of humor lurking in the background when needed. After the first lap, she scrolled eagerly through the pictures on his phone, the ones he took in his downtime in New York. She'd only been there once, for a special weekend excursion. It was beautiful, with all the big lights and huge buildings. Pausing on a picture of a goofy-faced Sam pointing up at the Stark Tower, she smirked. The overt grotesque expression was priceless.

"Oh, the blackmail material."

"His mother was rather taken with it, when I emailed it to her," Steve replied nonchalantly, downing some more of his milkshake. "I reckon it may be her Christmas card this year."

"Won't he be pleased." She swiped right, settling on a picture of Steve posing, rather grumpily, in front of a Captain America statue somewhere in Brooklyn. She snorted at that. "Probably about as pleased as you look here."

Steve looked over her shoulder, grimacing. "Sam insisted. Thought it'd be funny."

Discreetly, she tapped her finger along the screen, handing it back after another couple of minutes.

"What's the next stop on your whirlwind tour?" Holly wondered, injecting some levity in the serious endeavor.

Her companion pondered it for a moment, no doubt deciding whether it was safe for her to know."First England, and then to Italy. We think he's following along his service path, putting everything together that way."

She inclined her head, seeing the sense. "Step-by-step processing. Hopefully you'll catch up with him soon."

"So do I. I should've started sooner," Steve murmured. That arrested Holly's attention, making her focus on his stern features. She'd heard it: the guilt, the trepidation.

"Don't beat yourself up over this, Steve. It's not your fault," she tried to reassure him.

Instead of alleviating his guilt, the words seemed to make no impression on him."People keep telling me that. I wish I could believe them."

_'You should,' _she thought, fighting back a frown. After a short pause, she asked aloud, "Did you think what happened to your friend would happen?"

He clenched his teeth, but he answered calmly enough. "...No."

"No," she cut him off quickly, before he could interject another wave of self-doubt. "You didn't even know he was alive until a few months ago. You can't be blamed for being ignorant about something that nobody else knew, either."

And she was fairly certain of that. If anyone, _anyone_, friendly to the captain had known that the only friend from Steve's childhood had been taken, made into a dangerous person, they would've done something about it. Or at the very least made him aware of what happened.

"You don't understand," Steve said, a very real tenor of frustration and anger in his voice. "None of you do."

The first impulse she had was to glare, or retort hotly that of course she didn't understand. He wouldn't tell her anything he didn't think she needed to know; how could she understand if she was flying blind? However, she bit down hard on her lip, forcing herself to hold it in. This was about more than her, or Sam, or anybody else he cared to name, not being to realize why he felt guilty. What he was pushing on himself inwardly, he was beginning to project out, and she at least knew that.

"We are trying to, Steve," she let out, a modicum of irritation entering her voice. His bright eyes narrowed at her, shadowed in the coming night's darkness. Damn, she couldn't keep it all in. "We're all working with what you give us. Which, yeah, isn't a ton, but we do try."

The narrowing turned into a true glare, and he shook his head, hunching his shoulders against her words, almost against her presence. Neither said a word to one another for a long stretch, but then again neither man nor woman walked away from each other. Very few people were left on the grounds with them, as most were departing for home or hotels or another form of nightlife, so the quiet became almost deafening. Holly swallowed, taking in courage to finish her piece.

"Look, I know that my saying that doesn't make you feel any better, not really. But you can't be held responsible for mistakes that are not of your making," she almost whispered, her tone firm. "You're trying to do something good now. Concentrate on that."

Slowly, Steve's posture began to relax, digesting the words along with the last of his milkshake. She was right; it didn't make him feel better, not by much. However, he could see clearly that he was focusing on the wrong mindset, on the wrong emotions. Blame would get him nowhere, no matter what he believed to be true about it. And lashing out would definitely get him nowhere. His time had to be put towards a better use, a better philosophy.

A part of him would always feel guilty for his friend's fate. However, he could not flog himself for it anymore. It was futile, and pointless. It was more important to correct the wrongs of the past; that he did have control over, somewhat.

He breathed deeply, in and out, looking over the young lady to his right. Her face was set in mild annoyance, he could see the worry in her dark irises. She wasn't being intentionally snotty; she was genuinely concerned for his sake. He knew that, too. Waiting until she looked him fully in the eye, he nodded once, his concession. His acceptance.

"It's getting dark," he noted obviously. Passing a trash can, he tossed his emptied container into it, silently tossing Holly's as well when she passed it to him. "We should probably head back."

"Yeah," Holly responded, a little despondent. "We should."

"You...you do have the first three _Star Wars_ episodes, right?" Off her confused nod, he put his hands in his pockets and continued, "Would you care to watch them again tonight?"

_I'm sorry._

Mimicking his half grin, she turned it over in her mind. "I suppose we have time for Episode 1, at least. Just don't blame me if you run off screaming into the night because of Jar Jar."

_Already forgiven._

Not entirely certain of what she was talking about, he took it in stride. He'd get it later (boy, would he). Taking a step in the direction of her car, he stopped short and looked down at her again. In that moment, he seemed to come to a decision. Holding out his elbow, he was pleased when she slipped her hand in the crook with no hesitation. She trusted him to guide her, and he wanted to keep her near. Arm in arm, they traversed back to her vehicle and home, keeping close to one another, and banishing the outside world and its cruel thoughts, quests, and intentions for a time.

"What in the hell _is_ that thing?!"

Although, later on, Holly would maintain that most of the outer world had heard him yelling that at the screen when Jar Jar Binks showed up.

* * *

**A/N:** ...I do like Episode 1 of the prequel trilogy of _Star Wars_. It was my introduction to the saga, after all. I'm just not a fan of Jar-Jar. The lightsaber duel/music for the lightsaber duel is epic.

Suffice it to say, I don't own the film or the mentioned character.

I have a hard time believing that Sam is able to just pick up and run off with Steve on his pursuit of Bucky, so there will be time where they are state-bound simply because unlike SOME people, he does have to work on occasion.

According to some online resources, Sam Wilson was born in New York City, so it makes sense to me that his mom would still be living there. And probably putting the boys up for the night while they go adventuring. Also, according to an online resource, it claims that Marvel has claimed that the shield weighs only 12 pounds. I was a little taken aback by that; I thought it looked much heavier. And because "light" is such a relative term when it comes to Steve, I had to actually look it up.

So, I'm running on the belief that the last chapter wasn't terribly popular with some of you. Or perhaps most of you are busy, and couldn't review. I don't know; I hope you guys just didn't hate it. Thanks, Guest. I'd have messaged you my thanks earlier, but alas, your voluntary anonymity!

I'm posting a little earlier this week than normal because I'll be starting a new job this weekend, and I wanted you all to not have to wait for it. (I now have three jobs. Pray for me.)

Thanks for reading, stop by again next time, and please review. Please do...please? Okay, I'll stop begging...


	13. Chapter 13

Hitting the batting cages was not something Holly did very often.

Hell, she rarely played softball as it was, let alone practiced. She'd not actively done so since ninth grade, when the coach for the high school team turned out to be a jerk and the sport was no longer any fun. There were some pickup games over the last ten years, but the occasions were few and far between. But now that she was in possession of some of the equipment, she thought it best to work on her swing.

Although, if she would be swinging at anything in the near future, it was going to be another person. Definitely not a ball. At least the person would be a wider target. Better to brush up on her skill now, rather than wing it when the time came. If it came.

It was all based on the supposition that Bucky Barnes would come after her while Steve and Sam were away. It was a small chance, but she wasn't willing to take the risk with someone who was an unknown, dangerous quantity (no matter what his past dictated). There were no odds that he would, but at the same time there were no odds saying he wouldn't. Steve had told her as much, and while the honesty was brutal, it gave her time to prepare. In truth, she didn't want to resort to violence at all, but hey, if he came after her, all bets were off.

Along with that, she'd been in the workout room of her building every other morning, mostly running on the treadmill. She wanted to build up her endurance, in case she had to hoof it. Having hated any form of track and field for the entirety of her life, that was something she dreaded the most. Softball offered quick bursts between bases, nothing prolonged. If she ran, she would not get very far.

"Here's the downside of Coke and Doritos," she mumbled to herself after a long time spent jogging on the treadmill and panting heavily. She'd been going since Steve had told her his intentions of hunting down Bucky, but it didn't feel like she was making any progress. In her mind, at least, she didn't think so. Not like she was obese, but she wasn't a tiny sister. Perhaps it was getting rid of the winter weight, but that wasn't the point of the endeavor.

Her best defense, she thought, lay in her offense. And therefore, two evenings before Steve and Sam's flight to England, she found herself staring down the pitching machine, a borrowed helmet situated awkwardly on her head and her fingers white from the grip on the bat's handle.

Steve was aware of her batting sessions, had even joined her once since he'd returned home. As aware of her plans as ever, he did express concern for her idea to swat away at his old friend, but he'd conceded the point that if he made the first strike, then he couldn't stop her. He merely asked her to avoid cracking him upside the head, if she could possibly do so.

When his turn to swing came, Holly had watched, studying his form and stance intently. The movements were concise, the air around him exuded confidence. He swung with ease, his concentration rewarded with satisfying cracks of the bat (though he personally preferred wooden bats, he made due with her metal one). And she was satisfied to observe, to see his body in motion, the strength and power of his frame shining despite the mundane actions. Catching herself staring once or twice, she'd flushed bright red and spent her next turn swinging wildly. That didn't help matters; he'd come back in to help steady her stance. He'd end up standing close behind her and repositioning her hands when she was being stubborn and insisted that she didn't have to. Or tapping her calves with one of his ankles to spread them and get her to balance out. In those moments, she felt simultaneous snaps along her veins, and chided herself for behaving like a newbie.

"Sure you've played before, Holl?" he asked, amused, and she'd gave him a mock glare before her next swing.

Of course, then one of his line drives blew a hole through the pitching machine. They'd fled the premises fairly quickly after that, with Holly stunned and Steve sheepishly apologizing to the proprietor and offering to cover the cost for repairs. Once the shocked owner made a deal with him and they'd disembarked to her car, she'd recovered. And then she started laughing. Hard.

"You're bunting from now on," she'd told him after she'd taken a moment to breathe, "That poor guy looked devastated when you showed him the damage."

Though he'd looked properly ashamed, Steve's lips quirked at the corners.

"Whoops." And then she'd laughed even harder, smacking his arm playfully before putting the car in drive.

"Can't take you anywhere," she joked, turning the car towards the right and spying the flash of a subdued grin out the corner of her eye.

This evening, she'd chosen to come alone to a different establishment, for slightly different reasons.

She'd been lying on her bed at home earlier, staring at the swirling dust motes in the fading sunlight. Having come off a long shift, the desire to crash out was incredibly strong. But there was no respite to be found, as her brain began to churn over other things. Truths that she couldn't give credence earlier were becoming more and more obvious. Something was different; the world had shifted on its axis, resettled without her encouragement, and she didn't know how she felt about it. Holly knew that things were changing, they always were, but it seemed as though she'd snapped out of a trance and came back to reality. Or that reality had slowed down and forced her to acknowledge the shifting nuances.

It didn't make her blind to the fact that most of the changes in her life revolved around a singular point. A singular person. And that thought was in equal parts fascinating and terrifying, for all the implications that those thoughts brought.

Steve had entered her life quite by accident. And by accident, she'd found herself drawn into what he'd shaken up around her. If she could only articulate what was going on, both inside and out, she thought she'd feel better. Not that she felt bad; he'd yet to make her feel bad, and she knew he wouldn't do so intentionally. In fact, when she was with him, talking to him, spending time with him, she felt...more.

_'That's all you can come up, girl? Just "more?" God, you're stupid,'_ she thought to herself, rolling onto her side and getting off the bed. But it was true, no matter how unclear the idea was. And the undercurrent, always present, always whispering, told her that "more" went beyond the bond they were forming. "More" was out there, a marker to show how reality and fantasy were not separated by anything more than a very thin line. Any control she had was minimal, and her mind was too jumbled for her to begin to process what "more" would become. Not that she had the faintest idea anyway.

_'Really? __No__ idea?'_

Stopping that thought in its tracks, she shook her head sharply. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she stumbled over to her closet and changed, a plan to clear her head formulating.

Practicing would give her no chance to think about anything: not work, not home, not Steve. That was the idea.

She struggled to keep her attention were it needed to be: on the ball, not on the last time she'd come to the cages. The mental image sprang up before she could stop it: her friend's lithe form, the curve of his grin when the bat made connection with the ball...distracted, she'd swung too late, the ball bouncing off the fencing behind her.

"Damn it," she muttered, raising the bat again and preparing for another round. _'You need to stop that, right now.'_

"Choke up on the bat," a smooth voice crooned behind her. Taken by surprise, she nearly jumped a foot, losing her focus.

"Motherf—Natasha!" Holly fell back, colliding with the cage in shock as the whisperer came into view. She lowered her bat, staring down the other woman as she relaxed her stance. A ball whizzed by in the pause that followed, and Holly got the distinct impression that her new companion was doing her best not to laugh. Her face had remained placid, though her eyes glittered in the fluorescent lights.

"Holly," Natasha acknowledged her. Her red hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, a sharp back shirt combined with shorts. She wore combat boots in defiance of the June heat, casual and heavy-duty all in one. In comparison, Holly felt like a hot mess, but put it from her mind.

It had been over a month since the two ladies had crossed paths, and it was something of an abnormality anyway. Before the younger of the two could ask any questions, another ball zipped between them. Turning her head towards one of the workers, Natasha yelled, "Hold it!"

The teenage boy who was supervising the machines hurried to comply with her command, roused out of his bored trance. When she thanked him, he smiled warmly and nodded, face turning crimson. Holly stood as witness to this, smirking at the obviousness of the young man.

"I've paid through the hour," Holly commented wryly, shouldering her bat and taking off the helmet. The last few times, she had just gone for a certain amount of pitches; the sessions were often preludes to other activities and she didn't want to be tied in for too long. Natasha shrugged, stepping up to where the base would be and stretching out a hand.

"Better not waste it, then." Her tone brooked no argument, and Holly placed the bat in her hand, stepping out of the box and indicating for the machine to start pitching again. She'd left the helmet just inside the door, but the ex-agent ignored it. Testing her swing out, she stepped over, showing herself to be a left-handed hitter. Holly raised her eyebrows, but didn't say anything.

Observing Natasha was an entirely different experience than watching Steve. The woman was all tight movements, controlled stance. She varied her approach, swinging hard one time and glancing it off the bat another. There was power in her swing, but it was less about force and more about her focus. Not every hit was a homer, in fact she missed a couple, but she charged forward, determined to rectify whatever mistakes she'd made previously. If she'd had that sagacity in high school, Holly supposed probably wouldn't have quit the sport.

And she would have been guaranteed to drill the ball expertly at her old coach's head, but that was neither here nor there.

The pair took turns as the session wound down, with little talk passing between them. The sudden appearance of Natasha nagged at her, making her wonder as to the reason with each time the other woman watched her. Part of her supposed it was payback for staring her down beforehand, but the sense that it was more than that grew stronger as time went on. Both of them were sweating and rolling the arms in relief when the kid at the far end announced their completion of the round. Holly swiped her brow, meandering towards the exit with the bat an inch from dragging along the floor.

"Well, I'm beat," she crowed, her aching muscles confirming the words. Gesturing towards the door, she glanced over at the other woman. Natasha blinked, rolling her shoulders. Pressing on, she said, "I'm going to head down the street, get a pop or something. You want to come with?"

A well-shaped eyebrow shot up at that, but whether it was because the ex-agent thought that the idea was ludicrous, or because she'd used the term "pop", she couldn't tell. Either way, she eventually murmured,"Sure."

Ten minutes later found the duo sitting outside the corner store, drinks in hand and a bag of chips to split between them. Looking like a pair of teenagers with nothing better to do with their night, she mused, brightening a little. Though water would have been the better choice, Holly couldn't quite shut up the little rebellious voice that screamed,_ I'm an adult, I'll drink whatever the hell I want,_ and therefore had a tall cup of cola. The sky was starting to cloud over, rain imminent for the evening, but neither was ready to give up their curb seats. One after the other, they dug into the chips, each chewing and saying nothing. The silence stretched between them, punctuated by the traffic flowing by and the pedestrians going about their evening.

"So," Holly broke the quiet, unable to stand it any longer, "you're here."

Natasha shot her an amused look. "Yes, I am."

"Steve had said you'd left town."

"For a bit, but I'm back. Touching home base before shooting off again."

"To England?" Holly wanted to know. She didn't think that she was in on Steve's mission, but that might have changed. Natasha shook her head, lips turning up in a sort-of smile.

"Decidedly not. I have other things to do, nothing including looking for a half-dead man." She wrinkled her brow for a moment. "Well, at least not that one."

Holly's eyes went wide, but she couldn't find anything to say to that. A strong part of her suspected she wasn't kidding. In any case, it took her a moment to get back into conversation.

"You sought me out." It was part observation, part accusation, but without venom. The ex-agent did not confirm nor deny, just ate another chip. "Why?"

"Does there have to be a reason? Besides the obvious, of course."

"And what would the obvious be?"

Her companion shrugged delicately. "Wanted to get a good look at you."

Holly scoffed, rolling her eyes. "You've seen me before, talked to me. You've probably looked up my records, too."

"That's not the same," Natasha cut in, narrowing her gaze on the younger woman. Her tone turned deadly serious, though it wasn't as cold as it could have been. "I'm observing your character, since both you and Steve insist on interacting with each other frequently."

Holly looked away, ignoring the heat in her cheeks. "That's nobody's business but mine and his."

The steely glare directed at her softened a little. "It doesn't work that way, not with someone like him."

The honesty could not be refuted. That aspect, thus far, had been avoided, but the public persona of Captain America was bound to catch up with them sooner or later. It bothered her, she admitted privately, that she was going to be speculated about and against by strangers just for knowing Steve on a personal level. And even the people who knew them both would have opinions about it, as Natasha was so kindly demonstrating. Because, after all, what use did a superhero have for Little Miss Average? Still, she pushed it aside; it was worth it, in her mind, and nobody watching could take that resolution away from her.

"So you're keeping an eye on things." _On me_, was the unspoken amendment. Holly knew Steve wouldn't be the one questioned for his personal actions. "And you wanted me to know. Why?"

"It wouldn't hurt you to know. Interested parties want to be kept informed. And, well, frankly…" here Natasha paused, her voice pitching low again. "I do, too."

Realization and remembrance dawned on Holly in that second. The effort of the ex-agent's part to keep the captain out of scandal, to protect him, the trust she'd asked for and received at his hand. She cared about him; as far as she was concerned, they were friends. As much as she could be, at least (Holly figured that being a government agent would make it difficult to form any lasting attachments, and Natasha struck as being aloof, anyway). Guiltily, she bit her bottom lip.

"He's your friend. It makes sense…" Holly trailed off, setting her drink down. Another moment passed, and her face twisted in confusion. "Interested parties? Who else would care?"

Natasha chuckled, an almost sweet sound. "Oh, you'd be surprised."

That, she didn't like the sound of, and made plain by the frown she'd pulled. She'd almost made a comment about Big Brother and perhaps the interested parties should find better things to do with their time, but she caught herself at the last moment.

Instead, she wondered, "So what do you think, then?"

Natasha stood, brushing the chip remains off her fingers in an unhurried motion. Stretching out her limbs, she looked down at Holly Martin, bright eyes flicking over her features languidly. It was absurd, to feel like she was plumbing out all of Holly's secrets just by doing so, but she crossed her arms over her chest. Any effort she could take to hide, she would. The ex-agent tilted her head to one side, finishing her examination with a dip of her chin.

"If you stick around Steve, I think you'll bear watching," she replied easily. "In a good way."

Off that, Holly snorted, getting up as well. There really wasn't an adequate response to her words, but that didn't mean she kept her mouth shut. "Bully for me, then."

"Exercise apparently makes you more acerbic."

Holly smirked. "Just a little."

Natasha's face creased in something like resignation. "Good to know."

With that, she pivoted on her heel, no farewell save the fluttering of a few fingers. Holly sighed, sinking back down onto the curb, choosing to look the other way while her would-be companion disappeared into the evening crowds.

'_Just one more thing to think about. You know, my life didn't use to be this complicated…could be worse.'_

The first raindrop plunked against her nose, forcing her to move from her spot.

"It could always be worse," she muttered aloud, brushing off the back of her shorts and jogging lightly with her treats to her car to avoid the downpour when it broke. And if her gaze tended to stay on the shadows for longer than usual, well, nobody could blame her for being overly cautious.

* * *

**A/N:** …Yep, Holly's being watched. Couldn't get away with anonymity for too much longer, not in this universe. For now, it's mostly Natasha doing the observation, though.

Natasha telling her what was up was a form of damage control; if anything were to hit the fan publicly, then both parties could be less obvious about it and minimize the effects. And since she's not working for the government in the capacity of spy any longer, she can do as she pleases. Especially as she's already formed an opinion by this point, anyway.

Kind of a filler chapter, seeing as how I have plans for the future and I'm really looking forward to progressing to them as soon as I can. ;) Also wanted to get this out quickly, as my birthday is this week, and I wanted to be able to celebrate and not leave you guys hanging.

So give me birthday gifts in the form of reviews, favorites, follows, if you please! Thanks for reading, and I'll see you guys for the next chapter!


	14. Chapter 14

"I think someone needs to explain to me again how I got roped into this."

Steve, in the passenger seat of Sam's SUV, cut his eyes away from the driver to the back. Sam lolled his head to the side, asleep and clearly ignorant of the driver's mild irritation. Holly was hunched over the wheel, paranoid about driving a larger vehicle. A travel mug was in her right hand, filled to the brim with straight black coffee. Like Sam, she must have felt half dead, but at least she was alert enough to navigate the roads. He could only shrug his shoulders and smirk.

"All_ I_ said was that we had an early flight out," he responded, scrubbing his face and looking out the windshield. He was barely more awake than his companions, but he was determined to keep himself buoyed. "_You_ were the one who suggested driving us and getting the car back so it wouldn't be stuck in airport parking."

It was true; she had offered, when he brought it up during batting practice. No messing around with a taxi, and the car would be brought home to stay in the interim, she'd pointed out. In the end, whatever saved the duo fees on their expedition in the long run was a good thing, and so they'd all agreed. Still, one could hardly expect anyone to be chipper for a four AM call time to drive to the airport, and here was the result.

Holly, signaling a left turn, chuckled darkly. "Too nice for my own damn good."

"Not necessarily a bad thing, but it does work against your favor on occasion," Steve muttered, earning a wry grin for his effort. After she took a deep swig of coffee (and wincing at the burn; straight caffeine was all she'd needed, as opposed to a sugary, creamy confection), the mug was returned to the cup holder.

"At least I can look forward to a long nap before running off to work today."

"Where you'll continue to sleep anyway?" he joked, not far off base. She had told him that she was stuck filling out orders and other paperwork that week, a crucial but mind-numbing task. It wasn't often that Holly really complained about her job, but that was one part she really could have done without. He'd thought it was a bit rich for her to say so, given that she had steered her future in that direction, and said as much. That got him an earful about expectations and realities, and wasn't he the one who wanted to work as a comic book artist once upon a time before life intervened?

At that point in the morning, though, she was unable to deflect that truth. Instead, she stuck her tongue out at him before shaking her head and snickering. "Not all of us can have your exciting career."

Steve tilted his head to the side. "Technically, I'm unemployed."

"Please," she scoffed. "If anything, you're freelance at the moment."

"Perhaps it's a little bit of both."

Not a bad supposition, as each idea could be applied to his situation. If there was a greater event looming on the horizon, he would be summoned to Stark Tower, ready to take on the mantel of Avenger again. But right now...his own projects took precedence, over finding what could possibly end up being a desk job or (and he grimaced at the thought) doing a continental tour again to boost American morale. The idea had been kicked around for a brief moment, before he put the kibosh on it swiftly. Despite the positive press it would bring for his character after the disaster, it was impossible to muster up the initiative to go through with it. Other things needed to be done, and he refused to be pushed away from where he needed to be of real use. The dancing monkey days were over, a time he was more than glad to leave behind.

Pushing the memories of the humiliation and the awful tights out of his mind, Steve plucked the travel mug out of its holder. "Would you mind if I have some?"

Holly looked at him quickly, her eyes flicking to the road and back. "Only if you don't mind sharing my germs."

He blinked, raising his eyebrows minutely. "I think I can handle your germs."

"Oh, you say that now..." she teased, passing a lone Ford in the lane. The statement was not followed up with anything, save a cheeky grin. Shaking his head, he threw back a swig of the stuff, the strong burn coating his tongue and throat. The caffeine would have little effect on his system, if any. It served its purpose of burning away his distracting thoughts, as well as a few taste buds, probably. Function over form, after all.

"Think you'll get him, this time?" she asked, apprehension laced liberally in the words. Steve sighed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

"No guarantees," he murmured. If Bucky wanted to remain elusive, he very well could do so. His prior experience as the Winter Soldier all but confirmed it. But, leaving almost literal calling cards at the last two places they investigated were proving otherwise. Long periods of delay followed by short bursts of frenzy, panic, and action; that was a phrase more applicable to war (and Steve definitely agreed with it) but it fit this situation as well. All he was uncertain of was when the madness would descend, when everything would be brought to the culmination point. "Hopefully…"

If this was just another test, well…Steve had a lot of experience with those.

If it was just an enormous game of catch-me-if-you-can, then Steve would play it. The chance at the prize was too great to give up. Even if the start-and-stop nature of it all was incredibly frustrating.

When they'd made a full stop at a red light, he felt Holly's hand settle on his shoulder, fingers squeezing cautiously. Opening his eyes, he turned his head and looked at her. The exhaustion was edged out by the concern, by the small spark of something else in her dark eyes. Courage, he thought. Courage for him or for her own peace of mind, he was unsure. She said nothing, giving him another squeeze on the shoulder before pulling away. That comfort she offered, he took, holding it in, keeping it for himself. The light turned green, and Holly stepped on the gas, propelling them further.

A hand shot out between them, snatching the container away from Steve's hands before he could have another sip. In surprise, he pivoted to look backwards. Sam was upright, eyelids barely open and his grip on the travel mug tight.

"Hey!"

Sam clutched the mug closer, moving away from Steve's range. "Don't bogart the caffeine."

Holly laughed outright at that, not protesting in the slightest. "You guys gotta remember to set your coffee maker next time."

From there, Steve began to direct her to the private entrance at the airport, one situated at the far end. Flashing a sanctioned ID at the guard at the gate, both fellows chuckled at Holly's low whistle of approval as she navigated the vehicle towards the correct hangar. A small private jet awaited them, inconspicuous in its appearance. Except for one part.

"Gee, I wonder who is letting you borrow it," the young woman remarked sarcastically, glimpsing the bold Iron Man mask painted on the tail of the plane. "The upside of knowing Tony Stark, huh?"

Steve smirked, opening his door and climbing out. "One of them."

Pulling that particular string was not an entirely pleasant experience. Tony had lobbed so many questions at him when he'd made his request, but upon meeting a wall of silence, he acquiesced with little fuss (if one could call a renter's fee minimal fuss). No doubt he'd bugged the plane with the intention of using JARVIS to discover the truth, and would throw a verbal curveball of ferreted information the next time they spoke, but that wasn't the concern. Circumventing suspicious government affiliates was. And Stark was more than willing to engage in such an endeavor.

As they unloaded their bags and equipment, Holly stood off to the side, leaning against the car door and fiddling with the keys in her hand. When she thought nobody was looking, the corners of her mouth were turned down. Catching Steve watching her intently, she attempted to pull her frown into a grin, though she didn't fully succeed. The fear, an underlying current, could not always be suppressed.

Calling attention to it would not do anyone any good.

Sam went up to her with bag in hand, throwing an arm around her shoulders and making her walk with him a couple steps. "See you later. Help yourself to whatever's left in the fridge while we're gone."

"Thanks. I'm sure the cheese slices and the leftover protein shakes will go well together," she laughed, wrapping an arm around his torso. Letting him go a second or two later, she waved a couple of fingers at him as he climbed up the portable staircase. "Have a good flight."

"Dude, this is a Stark jet. It's going to be nothing short of fantastic," Sam told her, mock-saluting her and entering the plane.

Steve, having hung back during the exchange, stepped up to her side. His shield was strapped onto its harness, and he placed it, along with his duffel, on the ground at their feet.

"'Once more unto the breach,'" Holly quoted softly, her hands tucking into her shorts' pockets. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

"Didn't know we were headed to Agincourt," he said, making her smile come back temporarily. As she shook her head in amusement, she opened her arms, allowing him to fold her into his embrace. The last couple of days, she'd been a little distant, a little withdrawn in his company. He'd asked her why, only to get the response of her feeling a bit overwhelmed for the present. It wasn't the whole story, but he didn't press the issue. He could understand being overwhelmed; the circumstances of life had changed significantly for him over the past several months, and in some ways it was the same for her. Being offered a chance to overcome it and return the friendship to a sort of equilibrium was more than welcome.

Warmth enfolded the pair, and they lingered in the moment. Something in his chest loosened, even though he wasn't aware of the tightness until then.

"Have a good flight," she whispered. A stray shiver shot down his spine as the breath ghosted over his ear, and he inhaled sharply in disbelief. For the barest moment, he tightened his hold on her when she pulled away, forcing himself to relax and let her go.

"Yeah," he said, suddenly feeling inarticulate. Heat rushed into his face, but he stamped down on it hard. Not the time, not the place, he reasoned. When he glimpsed her expression, he saw that despite the two pink spots high on her cheeks, she appeared okay. Her hands fiddled with the car keys again. Nodding once, twice, she walked away, her stride brisk as she went around to the driver's side of the SUV. Just as quickly as he'd lost his tongue, he'd found it again. "Holl!"

Stopping, Holly returned his gaze, confusion taking hold. "Yes?"

"Just…" he trailed off, as he had spoken before thinking. What could he say?

_Watch out._

_Keep your bat on you. _

_Thanks for everything. _

_I'll miss you. _

"…See you soon," he finished, raising a hand in a half-hearted wave. She returned the gesture, her eyes scanning over him quickly.

"Bye, Steve," Holly called out, getting into Sam's car without any further fanfare. As he stooped to gather up his things, he missed her gripping the steering wheel and thumping her forehead lightly against it. With a final wave, she put the vehicle in drive, returning down the road they had come. Returning home.

Steve took the steps two at a time, nodding respectfully at the flight attendant and stowing everything away in one of the compartments in the back. The private jet was every inch as luxurious as Stark had touted it to be, with leather seats, a good kitchen with decent food, and high definition television which Sam had already turned on. But Steve's mind was miles away from it all, and he was drifting in a fog, one that he couldn't blame on being tired. Taking his seat, he immediately put his face into his hands, ignoring the humorous scrutiny of his partner. There was a shift and a click, but even as the pilot prepared for take-off, Steve was not totally sure it was the airplane's mechanics that were moving him forward.

**xXxXxXx**

When they got off the plane at Heathrow eight and a half hours later, Steve had not expected Clint Barton to be waiting in the tarmac. There, he watched as the plane taxied, lifting a hand to draw their attention. His body language, from what Steve could see from the plane, was composed, if a little tight. He should have been afield, out with Nick infiltrating and turning over HYDRA's last defenses. There was plenty for him to do, and he did not believe that his and Sam's landing in England would merit consideration.

The ex-agent did not look harried, or as haunted, as he had looked over the last couple of years. The toll Loki had taken on his mind and his soul was a tough one, and he'd thrown himself into his work to reverse the damage he'd done in those short few days. As long as he was serving in some way, shape, or form, Clint was more assured of himself.

Something was going on, the hackles on his neck rising in spite of Clint's calm expression.

'_Well, only one way to find out what's shaking,'_ he mused silently, attaching the shield to his back harness and picking out his duffel from the overhead compartment. Shuffling down the portable stairway, he and Sam made their way over to him.

"Captain," he said, extending a hand in welcome. Each man shook his hand in turn. "And Mr. Wilson, nice to meet you."

Sam did not seem flustered by Barton's innocuous greeting, nor by the fact that the spy had evidently heard about him. He just nodded, saying hello, with his gaze shooting a questioning look at Steve for mere seconds.

"Barton," Steve returned, making a mental note to tell Sam more about Clint later on. "Thought you were busy with Fury."

Clint shrugged. "I was. But then a little birdie told me you were coming in tonight. Couldn't pass that up."

'_Really? Bird jokes?'_ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Holly murmured in his head.

Out loud, he merely asked, "One of yours or one of mine?"

He hooked a thumb at Sam, who rolled his eyes. The wing pack was perched upon his back at the moment, though they were folded in, the falcon emblem burned into the metal. It was too easy.

"Had to pile on, didn't you?" Sam mumbled, adjusting the duffel strap on his shoulder.

Clint smiled slightly, the creases at the corners of his eyes becoming more pronounced. Motioning behind him, he walked with them towards the hangar, where a rental car awaited them. "Well played, Cap. Nick sends his greetings, by the way."

That sounded like a segue way, but he played it cool. "Uh-huh."

"We need to talk," Barton murmured, moving in closer and pitching his tone lower. Steve mentally chalked up a point and inclined his head. The trio deposited the bags and equipment into the trunk, climbing into the cab and enduring a tense silence that lasted through the customs check to the hotel Steve and Sam had reservations at. After check-in, they congregated in what was, ostensibly, Steve's room (if one could call the shoe-box he was situated in a room. He was just lucky that the shower and toilet had any sort of separate compartment at all).

What Barton had to say was alarming. Not two days ago, while on reconnaissance in Leipzig, he and Fury had encountered a slight hiccup. The target, a HYDRA agent who had posed as a SHIELD programmer, had disappeared out of his safe house, dragged away in the middle of their raid. The man was bodily yanked out the back window by an unseen assailant, his face covered. His metal arm, however, was exposed as he pulled the squalling target behind him. Yesterday, after tracking him to what was previously thought as an abandoned airfield, they found the fellow, deep below in a secret bunker. The doors, shockingly enough, were left wide open, ensuring easy access to anyone who wanted to venture in or out. The rigged security and camera systems, conversely, indicated that it had been operational until very recently. Most likely it was cleared out just before they'd arrived. The programmer was chained to a fence, unable to make the clean getaway of his compatriots.

The bunker was barren, save for some overturned file cabinets and a couple of broken computers. One monitor was open; files to coded projects open and laid bare for anyone to see. More importantly, there were some documents that dictated a few special experiments and projects done over the last few decades, of human test subjects. The Winter Soldier, it seemed, had come and gone, having gotten what he wanted. All he wanted was information of some sort.

In the pause that followed, Steve inquired, "Is the programmer alive?"

"Yes, which is strange. After all the carnage the guy has inflicted, he didn't kill him. Maim, definitely, but…" Clint replied, shaking his head and glancing away. He didn't notice the lightning fast look shared between Sam and the captain. "Anyway, the programmer's coherent enough to be brought back to the states."

Sam nodded, absorbing the information. "He left one behind. For questioning?"

Automatically Steve shook his head in denial. "To send a message. For HYDRA primarily, but we benefit from it, too."

"Leaving a bloody crumb trail doesn't bode very well," Barton observed.

"Not for the people whom he considers an enemy. Can I speak with the survivor?"

It didn't take long for Barton to consider the request.

"It can be arranged. After all, you only have a narrow window of opportunity here." Off Sam's raised eyebrow, he supplied, "We fully expect him to kill himself before we get stateside."

Sam grimaced. "Charming."

_Cut off one head…_The words seemed to echo in Steve's ears.

Arranging the time and place of the proposed meeting, there nothing left to do but to walk Clint out to his cab, waiting to take him to wherever he and Fury called home base. A tired Sam bid him farewell at the door of his room, declining to go with them. Upon entering the elevator, Clint pressed the button for the lobby, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Talked to Nat. She said you've got a new little civilian friend."

Well, that was an unexpected change in conversation, and Steve felt his back stiffen slightly.

"So?"

The tension in that one word was marked, and painfully obvious. It was clear that he was neither expecting nor wanting a full conversation about his choice in companions. It would risk a dressing down, at the very least. Clint knew he would have to proceed cautiously.

"I'm not making a judgement call here," he remarked, noticing Steve's shoulders relax minutely. Natasha, when she'd shared that little tidbit of information, had been rather neutral in her descriptions of the young woman. The only real mark against the girl was that she was a regular person. And that, in some ways, could be even more dangerous than if she'd been an agent or something of the like. "She sounds nice enough. Just…you know, be careful."

The elevator stopped, depositing them into the tiny lobby. Stepping out swiftly, Steve sighed, "I had hoped the spying would loosen up."

Clint gave him a wry smile. "By the new standards, you're practically anonymous. However, we're not the only ones with eyes and ears."

The captain stopped just over the threshold, the point hitting its mark just as intended. He shot Barton a look, while he smirked back. He was far too good at hitting his targets, he noted, his expression evening out.

"I know," Steve replied quietly. "So does she."

Holly wasn't stupid; she understood more than she was given credit for. And what she didn't know, she asked for clarification on. Being deliberately ignorant was not something she wanted.

Extending his hand, he waited until Clint accepted it and shook. "Good to see you, Barton. Circumstances notwithstanding."

"You had to expect we'd cross paths from time to time, considering who you're up against."

Rubbing his neck, Steve said, "Hopefully just this time, in that regard. See you at oh-eight hundred."

"Later." With that, the ex-agent slipped into the waiting car, speeding off through the twisted streets and out of sight.

Blowing out a puff of air, Steve squared his shoulders and went back inside. "More to think about."

The question was where he would begin to channel his thoughts first: on sleep, on getting food, on Bucky's attack and the consequences of it, or on a young lady left stateside, sitting on the edge of a world that was ever-changing.

* * *

**A/N:** I…I'm not sure what I can say specifically about this chapter, other than I wasn't sure where to go after the last one, so here we are. Aaaaand…discuss.

Holly's quoting _Henry V_, just in case you didn't get the reference.

And bringing in Clint was something I wanted to do, oh I don't know, four chapters ago, but this is when he chose to make an appearance. I figured it would make some sense for them to cross paths, with all the HYDRA business going on.

And for the record, I had a great birthday. I got a Captain America shield cake. It was awesome, and delicious.

Thanks for reading, PLEASE REVIEW, and I'll see you next chapter!


	15. Chapter 15

The interrogation of the HYDRA programmer was by no means smooth. At eight o'clock the following morning, Steve and Sam made their way to the address Barton had provided, their taxi depositing them in front of a warehouse by the Thames. A side door swung open, ushering them inside before they could be seen by any of the civilians wandering around at that hour. The agent, someone Steve hadn't met before, guided them around stacked boxes towards a back office, through dark halls barely lit by bare bulbs above. It was about as low-tech as it could get, it seemed. Clint was there, dismissing the fellow agent with a nod and opening the door behind him, ushering Steve in with one hand and holding Sam back with the other. His companion objected, but the captain shook his head. It wasn't the time to argue.

"Make it quick," he reminded him, "we gotta be out by nine, at the latest."

Nodding comprehension, Steve made his way into the room, bare save for a table and two chairs, the programmer seated on the opposite side. He looked no older than thirty, his red hair tousled. A flash of recognition crossed his face, his brown eyes narrowing in unmasked hatred. His thin lips sneered as the captain crossed towards him, but he did not say a word. If looks could kill, Steve would have been dead before he'd take a single step over the threshold.

Taking a deep breath, Steve sat down and collected his thoughts.

"We both know why you're here," he began slowly, keeping his tone even, "so there's no point in me asking what happened. And I know very well who, or should I say, what you serve."

Pointedly, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. One hand folded into a fist, and he brought the other over it, cracking the knuckles carefully. The programmer raised his eyebrows, going slightly ashen despite his resolve.

"I can't stop you from lying to protect yourself. But just so you know, if you do, you will regret it," he said, the emphasis on the words growing as he went on. "So tell me, what specifically did the Winter Soldier want?"

For the first few minutes, the programmer sat in sullen silence, hand-cuffed to his seat and pointedly ignoring the man sitting across the table. He'd been threatened on and off for the last few days; he looked as though he were used to it by then. One more person piling on was nothing unusual. Occasionally, his tongue moved over a gap in his teeth, the soreness of the gum fouling his mood.

As well it should. It was the Captain seated across from him that gave away the secret cyanide capsule housed there as a false tooth. His memories of HYDRA's defense mechanisms were long indeed, and he hadn't hesitated to share when he recalled it. It was his fault that his mouth had been pried opened and his one hope of escape disappeared as they pulled it out the night before. Steve wasn't all too surprised that that particular tactic was still employed, but given this day and age, he thought that they would have a taken a more modern approach. If they wanted to go that way at all.

Still, he said nothing, shooting the captain black looks every so often, as well as staring down the door behind him. He was no fool; his every move was being watched, and he knew it. Idly, Steve wondered if the conversation was being recorded. Spies would be always be spies, even without SHIELD's existence.

Eventually, Steve stood and turned to go, about to call the entire thing a wash, but then the programmer spoke up.

"That's it, then?"

The fellow's voice was rough, the accent Southern. He turned back, his expression blank. The programmer motioned with his hands, limited as they were by the cuffs.

"That's all the great Captain America can do? Make useless threats and then walk when he doesn't get his way?"

The captain shrugged, frowning. "I can't force you to speak. Admittedly, any information you have to share would help us both out in the long run, but you've made it clear that you'd rather keep it all to yourself." Steve shook his head. "Pity. Whatever you know could help me stop him from coming after you again."

"He can't," the programmer replied, with a touch of hesitation. His eyes began to darken with fear. He'd been prepared to give himself to HYDRA's cause, but that would be more or less on his terms. An assassin gone rogue would be something else entirely; for all his previous bravado, he didn't want to be in the man's clutches again. And there were no guarantees that the SHIELD collective that was holding him at the moment would protect him. "He wouldn't, would he?"

"I don't know. HYDRA's lost control of him. He acts on his own accord. And his own accord could tell him that if what was supplied to him was unsatisfactory, then he should finish the job he started." Crossing his arms over his chest, Steve bit the inside of his cheek to keep calm. "He's a lot messier than cyanide."

Images of bullets, blood splatter, Nick Fury in the emergency ward, a city in torment flashed through his mind. Yes, as the Winter Soldier, Bucky was efficient, but lacked finesse. The name of the Winter Soldier, though a legend to the outer world, was a terrible reality to the members of HYDRA. Every single on of them had heard of his vicious attacks, of his kills and how nothing would stop him, not trained agents and definitely not the lowliest worker. The programmer would be praying that he'd offed himself well before Bucky would be through with him, should he change his mind about leaving him alive.

It hurt to think of Bucky like that; the truth was painful as it was enlightening. Steve hoped, deep down, that his old friend would not pursue such a path again, but he just couldn't guarantee it.

It did not take the programmer long to decide his course.

"The Russian files."

The captain blinked, inclining his head and raising an eyebrow.

"Doctor Zola kept coded files when he did work with the Russians during the war. They've been backed up on all of HYDRA's drives for decades, buried underneath everything else. Suppose they thought they weren't worth the trouble to even erase, I guess. The soldier_ took_ me," the programmer murmured, nearly whispering, "to break into them, like he knew Zola would have them protected beforehand. After I did, he knocked me out, and stole what he wanted."

"What was in those files?"

The programmer scoffed. "A bunch of surgery notes. A forged autopsy report. Documents about medical testing. Something about a serum of some sort, a configuration of blood samples and results. A list of the Howling Commandos, attributes. A military personnel file, too, I think."

He paused there, hunching his shoulders as if fighting off a sudden chill. Steve looked at him expectantly, but he was doomed to be disappointed.

"That was all the information I got a look at before he...took care of me," he finished, eyes glued to the table top.

"So why you? Why not someone else?" the captain asked.

The programmer looked up then, muted fright passing over his face. "I served HYDRA in D.C. I...when he went out on his missions, I was charged with sending him coded plans. I fed his tracking system. When the carriers crashed, and he disappeared, he went off the grid. I knew he'd be coming for us. So I got the hell outta there." Snorting in derision, he continued, "He remembered me, knew what I could do, what I could access. Wasn't counting on that. All those brain wipes they put him through, you wouldn't think he would."

Clenching his jaw tightly, Steve fought to remain composed. "Would you know where he was headed to next, by any chance?"

A low chuckle was emitted. "I was in a trunk or in a blind panic for most of the time I was with him. We didn't chat much."

Fair point, the captain conceded that much. Nodding, he thanked the programmer for his time, knowing better than to push the time limit any further. There was nothing more he wanted to ask, or say, to the guy. He wasn't working with Fury's agenda anymore; he wasn't required to pull more information out of him than he needed. The programmer's gaze, conflicted and not a little bit uncertain, followed him as he crossed back to the door and let himself out.

Sam, leaning against a far wall, straightened up once Steve closed the door behind him and entered the hall. Clint appeared from around a corner, as though he'd just returned from taking care of other duties. Steve and Sam glanced at one another, both of them knowing better than to trust that guise.

"Get what you needed, Cap?" Barton asked nonchalantly. Receiving nothing more than a nod from Rogers, he tilted his head to the side and let out a puff of air. "Well, with any luck, he'll be a bit more forthcoming now. He hasn't given us too much beyond the basic information."

Remembering the evil looks shot at him, the mulishness of the young man's expressions, Steve furrowed his brow. "We'll see."

Clint took that in stride, tapping a finger along his belt. Pivoting on his heel, he led the way down another hall, towards a crudely painted back door. "You opened the floodgates. He'll have no choice but to keep spilling."

"Or he'll be...taken care of?" Sam interjected. Barton didn't need to answer; there was no point in confirming the obvious. Most secret organizations, HYDRA not excluded, could not tolerate leaks. The programmer would have to be in protective custody for the rest of his life, at the very least. He'd have to take as many of his compatriots down with him to stay alive longer, now.

The cycle couldn't continue.

As swiftly as they'd come, they were deposited on the door step and spirited away with the same speed. Barton did not offer platitudes as they disembarked, just raised his hand in farewell as they piled into a taxi and sped away through the London streets.

"Sam," Steve partially muttered under his breath, after several long moments lost in his thoughts. His friend turned his attention away from the passing streets back to him.

"Yeah?"

"Call the pilot. Tell him we need to leave tonight."

Sam shot him an inquisitive look. "Early to Italy?"

Steve shook his head carefully. The plans had changed. They couldn't afford to trail too far behind now, not when things had escalated as far they had. If they wanted to have any hope of finding Bucky, they had to jump ahead.

"No. We need to go to Germany."

Pulling out his phone, he waited until Sam was occupied with the call before tapping the email app on his phone. International data be damned; he had to send a message himself.

**xXxXxXx**

Several hours later, when she finally had a moment, Holly pulled up her email, having not been able to get to it earlier. Her eyes scanned the return addresses, a tiny grin spreading on her lips as she glimpsed one in particular. From her position in the armchair across from her, her friend Sarah caught the happy expression, as well as the backward slide as she continued reading the computer screen.

"What's up, Holl?" she asked, attention pulled away from the movie they'd been watching. They'd been having a girls' night in at Holly's place, wine and pizza on the coffee table, and silly romantic comedy in the DVD player. It had mostly been Sarah watching, as Holly had been tapping away at her computer every so often, bits and pieces being included to her novel as they traded remarks about the film's characters and their progressions through the plot. Holly sat up a little, shaking her head to herself.

"Oh, nothing. It's just Steve," she murmured, her tone a little flat. She missed the spark of interest in her friend's eyes. "His plans have changed; he and Sam may or may not come home early. Depends on the next day or two, but he'll let me know when everything's figured out."

That was the extent of the message, as much as he could reveal without endangering either of themselves. However, the content was not the concern; it was what he wasn't telling her. The travel plan that Steve and Sam were following along had been set up for weeks; the sudden shift indicated, to her, that an alternate course had appeared, and it was better for them to take it.

_'Something's happened, that much is clear,' _she thought, chewing her lip._ 'But what?'_

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "And that affects you how?"

Her friend waved a hand distractedly, buying herself a moment to think. She couldn't very well give the game away, just for the purposes of keeping Sarah safe. "Well, I'm kinda house-sitting for them, and...shit!"

The hangdog expression that flashed over her face caused Sarah to giggle. "What?"

"I totally forgot to check in on their place today," she said, guiltily sliding her gaze towards the door. Letting out a sigh, she continued, "I gotta go take care of that."

"Right now? But James Marsden is onscreen!" Sarah objected. Both young women paused in their discussion, watching as the handsome actor went through the pile of bridesmaid's dresses collected by Katherine Heigl's character. A few moments later, Holly violently shook her head and rose from the couch, setting the laptop to one side.

"I have to go over there," she said, her tone brooking no argument. Raising her hand, she cut off Sarah's next protest. "Seriously, Sare. It's important."

Off Sarah's skeptical glare, Holly shot back an irritated one at her. Another few seconds passed as they stared one another down. Sarah groaned, grabbing the remote and stopping the movie. "Alright, let's go."

Holly's eyebrows twitched together. "But...I didn't say _you_ had—"

The petite blonde popped out of her chair, running her gaze over the clock on the far wall before moving to gather up her purse and flip-flops. "It's only eight; we'd be there and back in no time. Besides, safety in numbers and all that."

Holly snorted derisively, grabbing her wallet and keys. "Bullshit. You're just being nosy."

Sarah's eyes glittered in mirth as she opened the front door. "Well, _yeah._"

After all, she reminded her as they descended the stairs, how else could she pass up the opportunity to find out a little more about her best friend's mystery guy? Holly rolled her eyes as they exited the building, climbing into her car and barely waiting long enough for Sarah to buckle up before taking off. She really would have preferred to make the trip alone; drawing Sarah into the web constructed all of them was not part of the plan. Still, they would be in and out, picking up the day's mail and just checking out the house to see that all was well. It could be fine.

A couple of minutes went by before she picked up the thread again.

"He's not a mystery; I've told you about Steve before," she said, tuning the radio to the classic rock station, "and he's not _my_ guy."

Sarah refrained from pointing out the blush crawling up Holly's face and neck, from noting the intensified concentration on the road ahead of them. If she had wanted, she could point out how much time she'd spent with the guy despite having met him only a few months ago, and how much she talked about him when they were hanging out. Doing so would not do her any favors, though. She did not, however, restrain herself from smirking knowledgeably at her friend's discomfort.

"He's _not_," she muttered, though there was hardly any conviction in her tone. Sarah concentrated on the darkening sky out her window, grin growing wider. Oh well, if Holly wanted to act otherwise, that was her prerogative. She could wait that out.

"Okay, then. My mistake."

Holly harrumphed, breathing sharply out her mouth. Her best friend though she may be, Sarah could get under her skin in the worst way sometimes. Sensing that pushing was not in her best interest, especially with Holly's driving becoming a tad more agitated, she let it go.

Instead, she saved her next remark for when they pulled into Sam's driveway fifteen minutes later. Upon quick review, she found the house to be a tasteful design. Not a split-level, the siding looked to be off-white, matching the weathered garage. The neighborhood looked pretty decent, the other houses in a similar state in comparison. Maybe with a bit more curb appeal than this one. Holly parked the car, pointedly not looking at her and reaching into the back seat.

"You're taking the bat in with you?"

That pulled Holly up short, her grip on the bat tightening as she got out of the car. A weak laugh escaped her lips. "Don't want anything jumping out at me. Guess I'm a little paranoid."

Fighting back a nervous swell in her stomach, Sarah nodded. "Yeah, I'd say so."

They went up the track to the front door, stopping at the mailbox first, envelopes filling Holly's hand. Disarming the security system, she began filtering through the keys before finding the correct one and sliding it silently into the lock. The first impression of the interior was...well, clean. Shades of blue and gray paint on the walls, the pictures hanging straight. They were of people Sarah didn't recognize, an older African American woman standing with someone she could only suppose was the lady's son.

"The roommate," she surmised out loud. After a lot of pestering on her part, Holly finally gave in to her demands and furnished a picture of Steve on her phone; glasses and ball cap aside, he was definitely not the guy she saw on the walls.

A few pictures were of fighter jets (both men, Holly had imparted, were career military, so that didn't surprise her all that much). As Holly went around the house turning on lights and tensing her shoulders, Sarah began poking around. For a bachelors' house, it was pretty spotless. Again, she reminded herself: career military.

"Don't wander off," Holly reprimanded, her voice following her the hall down towards the kitchen. Sarah rolled her eyes, brushing it off and kept going, with Holly tromping off upstairs. Another hall branched off towards a full bathroom, and a bedroom. It was sparse, with a chest of drawers and bed. A simple desk with a Mac computer on top and a mostly empty bookcase sat on either side of the door. The room had no pictures on the wall, none of the unfamiliar people in the hall frames.

A lone sketchbook and pencil sat on the bed, and she took a step towards it, curious about the contents. The heavy steps signaling Holly's approach stopped her, and she swiftly moved out of the room. Glancing around, she sheepishly smiled at her friend standing at the other end of the hall. Holly tried to look stern, but her lips twitched at the corners.

"Sneak," she said, humor creeping into her voice, and Sarah just shrugged.

"Just looking around. Everything looks okay down here...in Steve's room?" she guessed, pleased to see Holly's affirmative nod. "Yep. Everything looks good."

"Same upstairs. I've put the mail on the counter," she confirmed, motioning with her bat hand. "Alright, let's head out."

They shut off lights as they went, making sure the blinds were shut and secure. Disappointed that she would not be seeing the rest of the house, Sarah was consoling herself with being able to get out there at all when she noticed something out the corner of her eye.

"Is that a record player?" she wondered aloud, breaking off from trailing after Holly when they passed the living room. Passing up the entertainment system and couches, she pointed at the device situated along the far wall. It had dark wooden paneling, the heavy doors for record storage closed tight. The needle was tucked into its holder, waiting for the return of its owner. "That's so cool, and retro!"

Unable to stop her friend, Holly dejectedly moved away from the alarm panel, propping the bat off to the side and following her in. "Yeah. Steve had it brought out when he moved in."

Very occasionally he'd start up the player when she'd visited, reigniting memories as he did so. Times spent being dragged to dance halls, he'd told her, or spending a day with Bucky's family. For her, jazz band concerts came to mind, back when she played the trumpet and was trying to earn a letter in high school. It was pleasant background music; she'd always liked it when Steve did decide to turn it on.

Sarah popped open one of the storage units, pulling out a sheaf of records. "Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald, Benny Goodman...lot of swing music here. And jazz. Wait, AC/DC, too?"

Holly jerked her head up in shock. Had to have been given to him; Steve didn't really care for that band in particular, she knew that much. Watching her friend slip out one of the disks, she moved closer. "Consider this my token protest: don't mess with the record player."

"Futile effort, but noted. I haven't been around one of these since Nana June passed. One song, and then we'll go, promise," Sarah remarked, positioning the needle correctly and turning it on. Her feet automatically moved, bouncing from step to step; shutting off the dancer inside her was impossible. The opening notes for the uptempo, swinging beat started playing through the speakers, and she held her hands out towards her taller friend. "Come on, come dance, Holl! Swing is fun!"

Holly snickered, her smile becoming lopsided. Tucking her hands into her pockets, she unconsciously started bobbing her head to the beat.

"You know how not good I am. Every time I've had to dance, it was for gym, and I always had to be the man."

_'Damn dearth of boys and me being taller than five-foot-two,'_ she grumbled to herself. Because of that, any form of dance she learned she inevitably put out of her head after the dance units were finished. It was a sore point with her, and something that made her not a little bit jealous of Sarah's abilities. That grace of movement was something she wished she could touch. Having none of it, Sarah tugged on her arms and pulled her into the jaunty steps.

"Come on. We'll start with the basics," she told her, her teacher tone coming out as she lined her up by her side. Jabbing her finger downwards, Holly stared at her feet. "Toe-heel, toe-heel, rock back. Got that?"

She demonstrated the movements, motioning for her friend to follow along. Holly tried to keep up, all thoughts focused on staying on the beat. It wasn't difficult, liked she'd feared; in fact, she was starting to enjoy herself, her hands moving with the music as she rocked forward and back. When a few minutes had passed, Sarah grabbed her hand and pulled her into a turn. Barely staying on her feet, a whoop of laughter erupted straight from Holly's belly.

"See, you got it!" Sarah cheered her on, expertly leading her backwards despite the height difference. Dance was her domain, and she would not steer her friend wrong. "You can dance. Just gotta try!"

Stumbling slightly, Holly watched her feet, mentally yelling at herself to keep trying, to keep going through it. And to watch out for the couches lest she and Sarah tripped over them. Coherent thought went out of her head, replaced by Sarah's gentle commands.

_'Maybe I could show my moves off to Steve,' _a rogue thought broke through to her as the music wound down and both girls were breathing hard from the exertion, one piece of music having become three. _'Maybe he'd dance with me.'_

And though renegade butterflies fluttered in her stomach, even though it was a silly thought and she was no expert, she grinned happily. It wouldn't hurt to ask if him if he would. When it was the appropriate time, of course.

* * *

**A/N:** Hoo boy, another long chapter.

Everything is progressing apace...in all areas. Trying to move forward as quickly as I can; I apologize if it seems to be going slowly here.

Think it's pretty obvious, but I'm not a dance instructor. However, I do remember being taught the first steps in the way Holly was shown above when I tried out swing dancing.

I like all the above artists mentioned, but Glenn Miller pieces are among my favorites; that man was brilliant. I absolutely love_ In The Mood. _  
Three guesses as to who gave Steve the AC/DC record. The first two don't count. ;-)

Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!

(PS: thanks to all my reviewers, new, old, and guests. You all rock my Captain America socks. Yes, I do own a pair of those.)


	16. Chapter 16

After the events in London, Steve and Sam had set out for Germany, starting with the overturned HYDRA bunker in Leipzig. True to Barton's word, there was nothing left inside the place, it having been cleaned out by Fury's accomplices. However, the stationed representative there (an Agent Harms, Steve remembered him; good kid, wicked right hook) did impart that among the files confiscated, one that had been labeled _Krausberg-Arms and Munitions, 1940-1943_, had disappeared along with the aforementioned Russian ones. From what he could tell, it just was about another decrepit stronghold. But Steve knew exactly what he'd been talking about.

Tucked into the Austrian mountains, Bucky had been held prisoner there for two months. And made a lab rat for several days as well. It was a logical step, another leg of the hunt, and so they would be headed there. Renting a car was a pain, but eventually they cruised along the road, promising to come back to the flight crew within a few days. It was after dark when they crossed over the border, making the decision to find a place to sleep with little discussion on the matter.

With the revelation came the memories. And the nightmares. Sam had woken twice that night, since they had shared a room in the first motel they could find: once to the sound of Steve's muted grunts and groans which had stopped several moments after he'd heard it, and the second time to find Steve leaning against the far wall, his back to the room and his phone to his ear. The dim glow of the bathroom light pooled around him. His voice was pitched low, given that he thought his compatriot was sleeping. Sam stayed still, not moving or making a sound while listening in on the conversation.

"…Sounds exciting. No, I wasn't…okay, maybe I was, a little bit," he muttered, half turning his profile and revealing the tiniest grin on his lips. Sam blinked; his friend hadn't shown that much positive emotion in a few days. "Anyway, sorry to bother you, must be getting late there…oh, I see. It's just 3 AM here. Yeah, I know. I know."

As he started to turn, Sam flicked his eyelids shut, risking a peek only when he heard the springs of Steve's bed creak under his weight. He sat on the edge, his back to Sam (who'd begun to modulate his breathing to maintain his charade and keep eavesdropping. Hell, he was curious; he couldn't really be blamed for it).

"Just…a little restless, you know…yeah. It's, it's a lot, sometimes…yeah, yeah, yeah, get sore all you want, you know I can't discuss details." Instead of sounding upset, he just let out a breath of a chuckle. "I really do appreciate it. You know that, right? Uh-huh…yeah, fight the good fight…a couple days more, I think."

His free hand picked at the comforter, but his shoulders appeared to have relaxed.

"…Yeah, I'll tell him. Of course. Sleep well. Better than me, for sure. I'll…I'll try. Good night, Holly."

Hanging up, Steve dropped the phone onto the mattress, passing his hands over his face and hair before turning to look over his shoulder.

"Didn't your mother ever tell you not to eavesdrop?"

Oops. Busted. Sam sat up slightly, seeing no use in keeping up the pretense. "Heard noises, woke up."

Steve shrugged. "Sorry, just couldn't sleep anymore."

"Do what you gotta do, man," the younger man replied, settling back against his pillow. It was hardly unfamiliar territory for him; he'd passed many nights the same way after he returned from his last tour. However, there had been a significant lack of a nice girl to call upon when he'd faced the early hours alone. His mother, sure, but again, not the same thing. And he couldn't let that pass without a remark. "Everything okay back home?"

"Everything's fine, Holly said," was the response. "She says hi, too, by the way."

Sam nodded in acknowledgment. "Hope talking to her helped."

The captain leaned over to the shared night table, plugging his phone into the charger and saying nothing. The placid look on his face, though, spoke volumes. The haunted agitation was subdued, perhaps enough to even get some rest. Leaning back against the headboard, his tired blue eyes flicked shut, silence descending on the two friends.

Sam grunted to himself before pulling the sheets over his head. "You left the light on."

Steve groaned under his breath, not bothering to open his eyes. "Don't care."

Nothing else was said for the remainder of the night.

**xXxXxXx**

Clouds had rolled in by noon the next day, casting the trees in shadow by the time they'd arrived at their true destination. Rain threatened, but there was hope it would hold off just long enough. Neither man could tear his gaze away from the wreckage in front of them, even as they exited the car. The structure was unstable, metal twisted in upon itself, the stonework crumbling into dust. It had once towered high, stretching over the trees, camouflaged by nothing but the darkness and the forest. What it had been, though, it no longer was. Ravaged by fire and man, the place had been rotting and returning to the earth, the evil within its walls swept away. For over seventy years, it sat, decaying in the wilderness.

In Steve's mind, though, he recalled it as it was. The great stronghold once held over one hundred and fifty men of the 107th, prisoners of war. It had also lost all of them in a single night, and more besides, because of the efforts of one soldier. It was, in his memory, his true beginning as Captain America. Rescuing those men, using the gifts given to him by Erskine was the start of his legacy. He'd thought he'd only have to do it once, invading the fortress to save a friend (several friends, as it would turn out).

At least this time, it was slightly easier to enter, with no HYDRA soldiers wandering about. Clearing his throat, he moved to the popped trunk. Sam had beaten him there, grabbing his gear and shuffling off to the side to get it on. Pulling out his shield, Steve slung it onto his arm. For simplicity's sake, he sported dark attire. This was one of those times he missed having a uniform; though the shirt and pants helped him blend in a little better, the uniform boasted actual physical protection. The lack of a helmet bothered him, too. He sighed; just one more thing to ask Tony for help with. The need for equipment was catching up with him; he wanted to do better than some borrowed kevlar.

Thank God he still had the shield, at least. And the hand gun holstered to his right leg. Not that he planned on using it, but there was no harm in being prepared.

Nodding ahead, he motioned Sam to step forward. The other man, with his flight pack on and his mouth set in a grim line, adjusted his goggles accordingly.

"Sam, go on ahead. We need aerials, see if he's been above ground. Survey the perimeter in every direction, find an access or exit point beyond the main road."

"And you?"

Steve returned the grimace sent his way. "I'm going to pick through the factory, see if there's any sign he's even been here."

That still wasn't a guarantee; Bucky could be in Poland, for all they knew. But if he left another clue, there would be a better chance of finding him in the future. Looking like he wanted to argue, the captain cut Sam off with a curt hand gesture. "I'll signal you if I need help."

Tapping the device hanging from his belt, it was supposed to raise an alarm on the other receiver hanging from Sam's. A loan from Fury's contingent, with the express warning that they bring both pieces back without a scratch. Hesitantly, Sam agreed, firing up the wings and running a few steps to build his momentum before taking off. Steve watched him go, picking up his feet and walking slowly towards the compound. The flashes of memory hit him as he strolled forward. One after another, they led him back into the past as he tripped along the present.

_The caged men, the HYDRA soldiers, the towering turbines and warped weaponry. Slipping through dank, green hallways to the isolation ward, watching as Zola pattered away, with fear in his eyes and surprise on his face. His friend, all matted hair and gruesome injuries strapped to the table. The revulsion rose in his throat, and he swore to himself that he would give whoever did this to Bucky the worst kind of hell._

"_Bucky! Oh, my God!" he murmured, ripping the leather straps free._

_Bucky was barely coherent, clinging to life with his recitation: name, rank, serial number. "Barnes. James Buchanan. Sergeant..."_

_He had to try something, had to bring him back to reality. "It's me, Buck. It's Steve."_

_Finally looking at him, really seeing him, Bucky blinked with some comprehension. "...Steve?"_

The scene shifted as Steve skirted beneath an overhang, coasting through the entry yard into what was once the cavernous storage facility. All the beams and supports had fallen down, the thick coating of dust swirling through the air as he aimed the flashlight he'd carried in his pocket upwards. It was so bright the last time he was there...and burning.

_The flames were licking their boots as he and Bucky traversed the last staircase...coating the beam and rocking it with blasts as Bucky made his way across. When it gave way just as his friend clambored over the opposite walkway, Steve felt panic well up in his chest, followed swiftly by resolve. If he had to die, then so be it. Better for him to do so while saving his best friend._

"_Go on, go!" he called, trying to get him out of there. But he should have known that Bucky would be bound and determined to stay where he was. He wouldn't move an inch if it meant leaving Steve behind. Not even to save his own life._

"_No, not without you!" he yelled back, indignity warring with absolute surety. It was with that confidence, that determination, that Steve was able to draw on his last reserves of courage and take a blind leap of faith... _

The shadows shifted, a sign of the moving daylight that was able to make its way inside. However, when they continued to shift within the beam of his flashlight, Steve had to clamp his mouth shut on a gasp. The form was elongating, changing into a creature in the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, the captain felt more assured of his deduction. It was no trick of the light; there was a person inside the facility. The features weren't discernible, but the hope swelled within him as he pondered how to approach it. It moved away, towards an outcropping of burned crates on the left, where a hole had been blown through the wall to the outside. Instinctively, he flicked off the light and crouched, shuffling along as quickly and silently as he could. At approximately fifteen feet away, he ducked behind a melted pillar base and glanced around it. The person's face was hard set, jaw tight and blue eyes wary. The left arm was exposed, metal plated and red painted star on the shoulder.

_Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant._

He stiffened then, as if detecting a change in the air. Before Steve could reveal himself, or say a single word, the other fellow bolted.

"Hey!" Steve shouted, immediately giving chase and ignoring the stabbing pain of full sunlight in his eyes. They were so close; he couldn't let Bucky get away now! As he ran, he grabbed the signaling device, pressing the button and switching it to radio mode. "Sam, where are you?"

"At your back," came Sam's voice over the waves. The mechanical whir of wings echoed in Steve's ears, and he nodded gratefully to the air.

"Good! He's heading northeast through the forest. Find an opening in the canopy, try to cut him off!" the captain barked, legs pumping harder as he tried to keep the fleeing assassin in his sights. Dodging tree roots and broken limbs, they practically flew through the forest, rain dropping through the leaves and needles as they went by. The downpour clung to his skin, but he refused to let up. On occasion, he saw Bucky looking over his shoulder as he ran, as if he couldn't believe that he was still being pursued. Pushing harder, Steve gritted his teeth and forced himself to move past any thought of pain or tiredness.

After several long moments, he started to gain on his old friend.

Just a little harder, just a little longer...

One little tree root hooking around his foot was all it took to screw things up.

Nearly dislocating his ankle, Steve found himself pitching ass over tea kettle across the hard ground, the rain pelting into his exposed neck and hands as he tried to right his footing. His head bounced against the shield, pain rocketing across his skull. Going with the roll, he managed to pull himself up onto his knees, in time to see Sam break through the trees ahead of him. The wings were retracted to give him room to maneuver, but the foliage was so dense that being aloft was more of a hindrance than a help.

That was an advantage that Bucky was more than willing to take, as he sidestepped Sam's charge from behind and grabbed his left wing, spinning him out before tossing him backwards. The younger man collided with Steve, sending them both sprawling in the mud and leaves. A metal wing popped him in the temple, and stars exploded. Sam rolled off of him into a tree trunk, winded. Having two hard knocks to the head in a short span of time, Steve couldn't clear his vision in time to get himself back on his feet. Once the branches above him stopped spinning, the quiet of the forest interrupted only by Sam's labored breathing told him that Bucky had gotten away.

Stumbling, Steve tried to run ahead, but the rattling of his brain forced him to stop. "Come on, Sam, we gotta..."

"Steve, stop. Stop," Sam's voice came from behind him, his hands steadying his shoulders. "You don't look too good."

"'Mfine. Let's go," he protested, the spinning world preventing him from standing and pushing Sam away. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he could feel everything dancing behind his eyes. He leaned on the shield, the edge propped into the ground. "Can't waste time."

"Sit still, man. You're not going to make it anywhere if you're concussed," Sam commanded, albeit gently. Taking the pack off, he sat down beside his friend, removing the goggles from his eyes. "Just wait."

Rolling his eyes back, Steve didn't trust himself to speak or even think for the time being. All his thoughts ricocheted around, churning his mind and stomach as he tried to get it all under control. A cursory check of his pupils told Sam that he didn't have a full-blown concussion, but it would be unwise to attempt to follow Bucky in such a state. Eventually the pair stood again, the last of the rain splattering around them.

It was tough to reconcile with his boiling frustration at being so close to getting his friend back. The walk back to the car and the compound was slow, and filled with silent rage. It had filtered through the dizziness, but it was no more pleasant. Each step was a step in the wrong direction, taking them further away from the objective than they'd been previously. Upon sighting the factory once again, he couldn't stop himself. Headache blooming, Steve hurled the shield at a couple of outlying trees, catching it as it came back and throwing it at a wall, a boulder, a turbine, before getting it stuck in the side of a broken fir. Muttered obscenities greeted his ears, and it was difficult to believe that he was the one shouting them. Only one stuck out as the shield did not come back and he stomped over angrily to retrieve it, weaving a little as he went.

"Goddamn it!"

Looking back, he saw Sam resting against the driver's door of the car, staring at him calmly. Mud and scratch-covered as he was, he had observed the scene with serenity. He raised an eyebrow.

"You okay now? You got it out of your system?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

The ire had dissipated somewhat, leaving Steve with a feeling of deflation. Plucking the disk from the tree trunk, he meandered over to the vehicle. "…Yeah."

Getting back on the road, the pair sat in silence for twenty minutes. The scenery went by unnoticed, one man watching the road and the other watching out for a headache to become a migraine.

"We should talk strategy," Sam murmured, driving with intense concentration.

"The strategy right now is to not throw up," Steve told him, leaning back against the headrest. Letting a second or two go by, he followed up with, "He's headed northeast, towards Bad Ischl. He's been there before, it could be the next stop."

Sam shook his head. "That's not what I was thinking."

Suspicious, the captain slowly turned his head to the left. "And what exactly were you thinking?"

"That we should go back home."

"Really." Steve's eyes went icy blue, narrowing into a glare. His partner shot him one in return.

"Look, I know you don't wanna hear this, but chasing him down isn't working out. Sure, he's left little clues and stuff along the way, but I don't think he was expecting to be followed this closely," Sam supplied darkly. "This little lashing we just received was a message: we need to back off. He's doing this on his terms, not ours."

Steve tilted his head to the side, lips pulled into a sneer as another vein of pain ripped across his head. "I can't stop, you know that."

"I'm not saying stop, man. I'm saying what I said before: wait. He's still trying to remember everything, figure out who he is. If we keep putting on pressure by following him, it's going to drive him to desperation. And I don't think we want to see him desperate."

It was a good point, and a fair one. Steve could admit as much, and did. What didn't sit right was the feeling that he was giving up, that it was getting to be too hard and so he'd break off just when things got going.

But if they kept pushing, if he kept forcing Bucky to break cover, he would have cause to regret it. He knew Bucky would be good at making him regret it. If he had been doing all of his homework (which, given the single-mindedness of his journey, was a sign that he very well could be) then his old friend would pick out pressure points to make him stop. When they were kids, it was attempting to pin one another to the ground to show dominance. Now, as an adult, he wouldn't go after Steve himself. It could be Sam, or Natasha—he'd already shot her twice, he wouldn't have any qualms about doing so again if it got the point across.

Or even...no, no he wouldn't think that thought. He couldn't let himself finish it. Waiting for the pounding in his heart to subside, he listened as Sam finished his speech.

"Eventually, it'll come full circle," he said, pulling into a parking lot on the far side of the town they were staying in. "When he wants the last pieces of the puzzle, you'll have them."

The file, the complete history of the Winter Soldier, was in his possession, locked in a portable safe back home. When Bucky was done searching for answers, he would come find him.

Steve just had to be ready. And he would be.

Very gently, he dipped his head, cutting his gaze out the window. Translating the sign out front of the tall, whitewashed building, Steve pulled a face. "Oh, great. The hospital."

Sam shrugged, fighting back a smirk. He wasn't a doctor, and he damn well wasn't going to leave Austria with a concussed superhero, just in case he fell asleep and was out for another seventy years. "It's been a few months since your last visit. I figured you must be missing it."

Steve opened his car door, shooting Sam a dirty look. He spotted the concern in his friend's eyes, and was thankful for it. But he didn't have to just roll over and take it. "Oh, yeah. I've been utterly pining for it."

"Sorry, no cute girl to take you in this time," Sam sighed with faux regret. As he climbed out of the car, he barely heard Steve's whispered response.

"That is too bad."

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, this chapter...this chapter gave me problems. I'm sorry if it's not up to scratch; I tried. I kinda suck at writing action sequences, but I wanted to give it my best.

I don't own the mentioned events of _Captain America: The First Avenger._

Yep, Bucky got away. And yes, I have my reasons for this. But I didn't want them trailing a shadow for too much longer; I wanted them to get close...before ripping the opportunity away. I'm evil, muahaha.

From what I've observed, it takes a lot to take Steve down. However, that doesn't mean he isn't susceptible to pain or injury; I think a couple blows to the head wouldn't necessarily concuss him, but it would bring him up short at the very least. Especially if it's his own head bouncing off vibranium and one of Sam's wings clipping him, too. Just my reasoning.

Only some Holly by mention again, but worry not, she will be returning to the stage shortly.

Until then, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

Waiting outside Sam's SUV, Holly bounced on the balls of her feet impatiently. The building anticipation was making her heart beat more rapidly, and she was beginning to feel very foolish, standing there on her own. Due to a call made by the captain through the correct channels, she had been granted access to the private hangar where Tony Stark's jet was due to dock any minute now.

Ever since Steve's call a few days ago, she hadn't been able to quell a sense of nervousness. The only relief she could find for it was that he would be stateside soon, back home. There was a short detour once more in England for a day, but that hardly mattered. He and Sam would be coming back, safe.

For the moment, perhaps, but at least there would be a moment when she knew that Steve would be all right. Safe and sound, and home. It would abate the curious ache that had developed after his last leave-taking, a thought which made her stomach simultaneously flutter and drop.

Oh, boy. And now a flush was spreading over her face and neck, and she had to put her head in her hands to hide the telling stain from the airport workers milling about. Which was a silly thought, considering none of them had even gotten close to her since she'd arrived and positively identified herself for access. It was times like these that made her question the fact that she was an adult.

_'A grown-ass woman, and still your feelings get the better of you. Idiot,'_ she thought. And she did have feelings, she could be honest enough with herself to admit that. The fact that it was a jumbled mass wound tightly together was another thing altogether. Thinking about it did nothing to help; she was quite sick of her private thoughts by this point. Well, some of them; the others, the ones in which revolved around that quirky half-smile, kind blue eyes, and strong character, those were pleasant. Thank God, she had a job and Sarah to keep her occupied for most of the time.

The muted roar of a landing plane pulled her off that train of thought, forcing her attention towards watching as the jet made its appearance and rolled slowly into the hangar. Shading her eyes briefly, she could make out a couple faces in the windows watching her, too. A hand waved, and she returned the gesture with a grin, making out Sam's face more clearly as the jet slowed to a stop. Steve, she reckoned, was already in motion, the motorized stairway just clicking into place before the hatch opened and he was coming down. Duffel bag in one hand, shield on his back harness, he never altered course on his path towards her, his eyes not wavering once.

_'To the car, he wants to get to the car,' _she chided herself, trying to get a tight rein on her thumping heart. Her gaze slid over him, spotting the bruise on his temple and the general exhaustion of his form (no matter anyone's stamina, flying usually took a bit out of a person), but in general, he looked okay. Still, something seemed off, and she was curious about what, exactly, had altered him to make it so.

That did not stop her from stepping forward, arms opened wide, and it did not stop him from dropping the bag and going straight into her embrace. With his strong arms wrapped around her, she couldn't fight off the fuzzy feeling running from her head to her heart, and she grinned sheepishly to the air over his shoulder.

"Welcome home," she said after a moment had passed, reluctantly pulling away. Taking a half step back, she shot another glance at the healing bruise and quirked up her eyebrows. "Still all in one piece, for the most part."

"More or less," Steve responded, corners of his lips turning up slightly. His gaze became a little unfocused, looking at a point just beyond her head for a second or two before he turned his attention to her again. "I've had worse."

She shot him a wry smile, laying a hand on his arm. "Thankfully not this time."

A throat cleared pointedly behind Steve, causing him to jerk out of his reverie, pink tinging his cheeks as he stooped to retrieve his bag and move off to one side. Snatching her hand away, she knew from the burning in her face that her complexion probably matched his at that second. Sam, all innocent expression and wide eyes, shot her a humorous look before greeting her and giving her a one-armed hug. Motioning towards the SUV, she skirted the hood of the vehicle before climbing into the driver's seat, using those fleeting minutes to get herself under control again.

"How was the flight back?" she asked once both men were situated in their seats and she started the engine.

"Better than most," Sam piped up from his position in the backseat (light ribbing of the captain while they were loading up the back had caused him to lose out on shotgun, but he accepted it with grace).

Steve snorted at that. "Yeah, not every flight allows you to crack into Tony Stark's personal liquor stores."

Glancing in the rear view mirror, Holly caught sight of Sam waving a hand dismissively. "Hey, I'm not driving."

The conversation petered out after that, tension filling every corner of the car as they trekked through Washington's streets. Thankfully, they'd landed shortly after rush hour had ended, so the roads weren't terribly clogged, but even so there was a feeling of unease that she just couldn't shake.

"So," she ventured carefully, "I take it the trip was not a success, altogether."

The simultaneous winces on both her companions' faces told her she'd guessed correctly. _'Way to shoot the elephant in the room at pointblank range.' _

"No, it wasn't. But we've got a better idea of where to go from here," Steve murmured, glancing up into the mirror to share a look with Sam. Holly, negotiating a left turn, did not see it.

"Ah. So should I start stocking up on coffee now, so you won't have to go without before the next flight?" she joked weakly, belatedly wondering if she should've just kept her mouth shut. A pause followed, one that made her glance suspiciously at the man to her right.

Steve's gaze was directed out the window now, his posture rigid. "There won't be a next flight out."

She blinked, the words registering one by one. "What?"

Cutting in, Sam elaborated, "We've been flying half-blind, chasing after him. Better to wait out the storm than to get lost and killed trying to go through it."

"Oh," Holly responded, a fierce relief pounding in her. Far be it from her to dictate the actions of an American legend and his veteran partner, but she liked the idea of them waiting and watching from home better than seeing them off on their journeys, secretly agonizing over their decision to do so. A part of her understood that given Steve's life, his line of work, would always be dangerous, and he would time and again put his life on the line for the good of others. But it didn't make it any less harder to accept; she cared about his well-being, and had done for some time now. She cared about both of them, and couldn't bring herself to feel guilty over her ease. At least, not too much.

The subject was dropped as they pulled into a Wendy's drive-through a short distance from the house to grab some dinner. One they'd pulled into the driveway back home, she waited until Sam had taken his things upstairs before going to the kitchen, setting down the bags of food and the cup carrier on the counter next to the mail pile. Turning, she walked down to Steve's room, halting in the doorway and watching as he began shuffling clothes from the duffel into the hamper. He'd maintained quiet since Sam revealed the plan, his expression passive, if not a little sad. Leaning against the doorjamb, she crossed her arms and shook her head to herself.

"Are you okay? With all this?" she asked him, concern lacing her face. Pausing in his ministrations, he sighed, seating himself on his bed. Resting his elbows on his knees, he shrugged his shoulders.

"I wasn't, at first. But...I've begun to accept it," he confessed, shooting her a rueful look. "I hate waiting. Sitting by, not being able to do something about it, it's annoying."

The heavy truth, no doubt backed by a world of experience, could not be ignored, and Holly could agree with it. Impatience was definitely something she could understand.

"But if it's the best thing to do..." Holly started, trailing off when all she received was a nod from him. Better not push her luck on that score. Instead, she came into the room, stopping at his side and resting her hand on his shoulder. There wasn't much she could do to stop herself from doing so, in any case. Offering him a tentative grin, she was a little surprised when his own hand came up and gripped hers. His fingers were rough, but his grasp was gentle. And when his thumb began to brush across her skin, she felt the breath in her throat hitch.

"Mail call!" Sam's voice crashed through the air, echoing down from the kitchen. The sound caused Holly to jump a little, forcing them both back into the present. "Something for you, Steve!"

Somewhat chagrined, Steve cleared his throat a couple times before replying, "Okay!"

A moment or two passed where neither made the effort to leave the room. However, soon enough, Holly drew away, hooking a thumb at the open doorway. "Better see what all that's about, then."

As she left the room, she could've sworn she'd heard Steve mutter, "Oh, rats."

But she wasn't totally positive on that. She was too busy mulling over what had just occurred while eating her burger and fries, with Steve and Sam pouring over the mailers and bills from the last several days. At length, Sam had brandished a thin envelope addressed to Captain Rogers, from a Senator John Michaels. That caught her attention, bringing her out of her tangled thoughts. Holly didn't know much about the guy, personally; he was a representative from Virginia, as far as she could recall.

"What does he say?" the other man asked, pulling up a chair at the table and ripping into his food with gusto. Steve, opening the letter, scanned the contents briefly, his face falling.

"The senator personally thanks me for my previous efforts on behalf of the country...and he asks me to give a speech at the Fourth of July celebrations across town. He wants me to call him to discuss further details. Oh, dear God."

Stunned looks graced all of their faces at that pronouncement. Sam managed to find his tongue again first. "He's cutting it a little close to be asking you do this only a week out."

Steve tossed the letter onto the table, sinking into a seat. "He says he's tried to get in touch with me before, but was 'regretfully unable to, due to circumstances.'"

A collective snort went around the table.

"He knows it's short notice, that he would understand if I refuse."

"Will you?" Holly wondered, tilting her head to the side, eyes narrowing in curiosity.

For a long moment, the captain just stared at the letter, a fingertip trailing along the grain in the table. "I could, but...he made a point of mentioning the disaster, and how it would be best for me to make an appearance. To show that Captain America is still there. All sorts of important people will be there, apparently."

Sam nodded. "It would be good, publicity wise. And you have USO experience to fall back on due to the time frame."

And it would give him something to do, to work toward, for some of the time now that they had decided on staying in the states for the time being. All that went unsaid, naturally, but Holly could feel the point being made. Mentally, she shrugged her shoulders; whatever kept Steve occupied would be a help.

The captain looked up then, an eyebrow raising. "Back then, someone else wrote the lines for me. I wasn't expected to do anything but say them."

"Convenient then, that you know someone who is good at writing," the other man responded, a sly glance flicking over the young woman seated at the other end of the table.

Following his gaze, Steve nodded. "That is true."

Holly's eyes went wide, her jaw unhinging as realization began to dawn. Glancing up, she saw the two sets of eyes fastened on her, one gleaming bright, the other reflecting something akin to hope. Setting down her burger, she didn't know what else she could really say.

"Oh, boy."

**xXxXxXx**

The morning of July 4th was much like any other summer day; a few clouds in the sky, warm, breezy. However, that morning Steve Rogers was suiting up. Not for battle, per se, but there was a knot of anxious anticipation in his gut similar to his previous experiences spent before heading into the fray. No, he was attiring himself for the gathering for the holiday's afternoon celebrations. Having settled on a dark blue dress shirt and dark slacks, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, expertly assembling his tie. Straightening the knot, he couldn't help but think about how much he didn't want to do this.

It wasn't that he objected to the idea of the request. Senator Michaels wasn't exactly the worst of the bunch; he was a lot less oily than Brandt had been, back in the day. In fact, he was more brutally honest, if anything. It was just that...well, he'd never much liked public speaking. When it didn't serve a purpose, at least; when he went on tour, spouting little turns of phrases to raise bonds sales and promote war contribution, it was the only way he thought he'd be able to help out. When the colonel didn't give him a chance to fight for his country, he refused to be turned over to be studied in a lab, being less than useless.

Brandt had given him an out, a way to transfer all of what Erskine worked for into something that could be used. If he had to sell himself, to give rousing speeches to embolden the public to help the boys overseas, then he would do it.

And here he was again, selling himself. Still, at the end of it, he had the option to leave, and no obligation to take his act on tour.

At that moment, Sam appeared in the doorway, wearing a white shirt and red tie paired with nice khakis. When the captain called the senator, one of the stipulations of his appearance was issue invitations to anyone Steve wished to have accompany him. That was easy enough, given that he was doing the senator a huge favor in coming at all, and he was more than willing to include Sam or anyone else.

Neither man was required to show up in uniform, dress or otherwise, the occasion not formal enough for that. They conceded to the code put forth very easily, knowing the summer heat would be miserable no matter what they wore. Regular dress clothes were breathable, at least.

Rolling back his sleeves, Sam asked, "You almost ready?"

"Getting there," Steve replied, fingers smoothing out the tie as he silently began to recall the techniques the chorus girls taught him to smother stage fright. The last touch was a tie clip, sent over by the senator, sporting a miniature of his shield. In the note that accompanied it, he wrote that it would be a nice touch, but Steve thought it was more akin to beating a dead horse, albeit with a small stick. That was a notion he kept to himself, and he decided to humor the other fellow by wearing it. Keeping his breathing even, he turned to his friend, palms up and gesturing. "This okay?"

Sam nodded, giving him a thumbs-up. "Looks good. The car's waiting out front."

Another perk: the town car sent over would take care of their transportation, and they were free to take it from the event whenever they chose. Nice option, in case Steve wanted to bolt as soon as he was finished speaking. Checking himself over one last time (and combing through his hair to make it sit right) he came out of the bathroom, shutting off the light and grabbing the suit jacket hanging from the bedroom door knob.

"Let's do this."

"No, _you're_ doing it. We're just along for the ride," Sam corrected him, grinning cheekily at his friend's indignant groan. Rounding the corner, he held out a hand to the young woman waiting in the hall. She was holding a light-colored jacket in one hand, and brushing down her deep red dress with the other. "Quick introduction: Tori, this is Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Tori Mantos."

Ah, the much-mentioned girl at the front desk; Steve remembered her, when he first visited the VA. Her olive complexion was sallow in her work clothes, but she looked much better once away from fluorescent lighting. Extending a hand to shake, Steve gave her a friendly smile in greeting. Her dark eyes flashed as she returned the gesture, some of her black hair spilling over her shoulder as she turned her head to smile at Sam.

"It's good to meet you. Sam talks about you a lot," she said, slipping her arm through Sam's as he retrieved his jacket from her.

"All good things, I hope," Steve said, rubbing the back of his neck shyly.

"Well, to tell the truth, I had thought he'd lied when he told me he met you, but then...well, there you go," she admitted, shrugging one shoulder and squeezing Sam's bicep. "Should've known better."

"Yep. You should've," he concurred in a mock chiding tone, his eyes gleaming in good humor. Smacking his shoulder with her free hand, Tori shook her head and chuckled at him.

"Jerk."

Soon enough, the three tripped along to the car, Sam and Tori enjoying the provided champagne and the musical access they had once they'd gotten in. In deference to Steve's one request, they kept it on a classic rock station as opposed to modern pop, singing along to the songs they knew as they went. After a short while, the teeming streets gave way to a familiar neighborhood, the car slowing to a stop in front of an apartment complex. Tori raised an eyebrow at Sam, wondering what was going on. As Steve exited the car, he caught Sam's whispered explanation.

"Steve's plus-one. She was running a little late, so we're picking her up."

Shutting the car door, Steve wiped his palms on the sides of his pants while striding to the front entrance. After going through the rigmarole of ringing up and buzzing in, he went inside, taking the steps two at a time. His nerves were firing off, and he was pushing them down and away as best he could. Pounding on the correct door, he heard a voice call out from within.

"Come in! I'm almost ready."

Turning the knob, he had to hold back a laugh as he watched Holly fly from living room to the back hall, a blur of blue as she went. Stepping fully inside, he walked into the living room and seated himself on the couch, waiting.

"I'm so sorry," she shouted to him, rustling sounds occurring from behind the closed bedroom door. "God, I'm so late. I'm really sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he told her, raising his voice to be heard through the panels. Looking around, he noticed that the living room was in a sort compacted chaos. The ever-present laptop was balancing precariously on the edge of the coffee table, notepaper littering the rest of the surface. Light jazz played on the the computer's music library, and he tapped his foot along to the beat, glancing at his watch intermittently. There was some time to spare, but he knew Holly was even more of a stickler for punctuality than he was. A few minutes later, Holly finally emerged, edging around the door to hide whatever had befallen her room. He rolled his eyes, grinning a little; if her room was trashed, he wasn't going to say anything about it.

"I wish I had a better excuse than writing and time getting away from me, but..." she exclaimed, smoothing down her dress as she went. "Anyway. I think I'm ready now."

There was a long moment where Steve was just gazing at her as she bustled around, shutting down the computer and tidying her notes. To date, he'd never seen her in anything classier than jeans and a sweater, and it was somewhat entrancing to see her new attire. The navy blue sleeveless dress she'd chosen was offset by a bright red belt, hugging her body closely. In a concession to the heat, she'd worn her hair up, a few escaped tendrils framing her face. All thoughts about his speech, his obligations, went right out the window. It looked, she looked...well, not that he didn't think she was pretty before, but right now...

"I tried to go 'classy patriotic' here," Holly said, tugging on her shoes and fumbling to grab her clutch at the same time. Jumping to his feet, Steve caught her elbow before she toppled over, steadying her as she straightened out, jerking him out of his ridiculous staring. "If there is such a thing."

"I think you pulled it off nicely," he told her, her smile his reward. As her appraising gaze slid over him, he had a rogue thought of how he hoped he didn't look wretched. Reaching out, she carefully fixed his collar and adjust the tie knot to sit properly.

Glancing down, she snickered at the tie clip, tapping a finger against it. "The real shield not good enough for this shindig?"

Steve sighed dramatically. "It just wouldn't stay on the tie."

A lamentable shortcoming indeed, she'd expressed sarcastically, leading the way out the door and locking up swiftly. Offering her his elbow, he guided her down the stairs with an air of confidence, though his misgivings about the entire event were returning. Escorting her into the car, he settled into the seat next to her, introducing her to Sam's girl and allowing the two women to bond for the duration of the ride without much input from him. Unconsciously he tapped the note cards hiding in his pocket, the speech prepared and waiting for him.

Once he obtained Holly's assistance, they'd begun their labor earlier in the week. However, she refused outright to write his speech entirely. It had to be his words, his voice, coming out, and she expressed surety that she could never presume to speak for him. Instead, he pitched ideas at her and she would tidy up the words, clean the language and grammar enough so that it was comprehensible, but still him. She did not write in anything without his approval or take on the words, and by Wednesday he had it ready and was practicing in front of the mirror. He was surprised to find that he was a little excited to work it out, to find a way to express himself to a new audience. Performing wasn't always a bad thing; there were times when he did actually have fun when on tour. Still...

The town car began to round the bend, ambling along the park in which the Fourth of July celebrations were happening. A steady stream of people flowed in and out as they drove past, eager faces watching them as they went. Several booths had been set up, food concessions and a couple games mingling between face-painting stalls and a few carnival rides. A grandstand stood on the far edge, though the car's driver halted just beyond the main entrance. Looking out, Steve drew in a shaky breath.

_'Dancing monkey,' _his brain tossed up, his mouth turning down in a frown. He barely noticed Sam and Tori getting out on the opposite side, couldn't see anything beyond the grandstand and all the people milling around.

He did notice the hand slipping into his, and he turned his head in time to see Holly smile encouragingly. She gave it a tiny squeeze, directing her eyes out the window as well.

"You'll do great. You'll see."

That profession of faith was enough to get him to open the door and step out, helping his companion to her feet and keeping her close as they made their way down to the stage.

* * *

**A/N:** I hope you all like these long chapters, because...oh boy.

This is just part one of the Fourth of July events. The rest will be coming shortly. With any luck, I'll have the next part ready by the end of the week, at the latest (because I don't like to leave you guys hanging).

Again, if the physical character description for Holly/Tori is too much, I apologize. I just wanted to get the picture in my head out onto the page.

Also, as of today, I have over 100 followers for this story. Holy crap, thank you, guys. Seriously, I've never had that many people follow a story of mine; it means a lot that you all like this story enough to want to keep tabs on it. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I value you all so much.

On that note, thanks for reading, PLEASE REVIEW, and I will see you very shortly for the next chapter. Provided it doesn't kick my butt in the process.


	18. Chapter 18

The first thing Steve took note of was the security. The senator had assured him that he had nothing to worry about, that it would be taken care of, but it was still more of a comfort for him to spot exactly who would be on guard. As far as he could tell, there were a few uniformed officers wandering the grounds, the checkpoints being the main entrance, the stage, and various booths. However, he could see sprinkled among the crowd some ex-SHIELD operatives, most likely transferred after the corporate shut-down. A couple of them even nodded to him, recognition flashing on their faces before they pretended to return to their various activities.

"Think anyone might try anything?" Sam asked, pitching his voice low enough that the women at their sides wouldn't hear. Steve glanced him out the corner of his eye, and lifted one shoulder.

"Hard to say. With HYDRA crumbling internally, it's highly unlikely they'd risk an assault when they're weak. Anyone else…" he trailed off, looking off in the distance towards the tents pitched beside the stage, "I don't know."

The possibility of assassination was nothing new, but if Steve let the idea control his life, stop him from going out in public, then he'd never do anything again. Long ago, he'd accepted that it was a very real likelihood, but it wouldn't dictate his actions. Both men simultaneously rolled their shoulders, feeling the kevlar vests hidden beneath their shirts tighten reassuringly around their torsos.

Sam turned his attention away, snickering at something, and Steve followed his gaze. Spying one former agent at a particular booth, he couldn't help a smirk. If they could be useful after getting a patriotic star painted on their faces, then so be it; he wouldn't tell them what to do to occupy their time.

Some of the uniformed agents stepped forward, acting as guides as the company crossed the grounds. Ostensibly this was a public event, but the inclusion of higher-ups from the House and the Senate had lent it an air of formality. Still, even they were not able to contain themselves too much, given how many of the people began to crowd around them as they walked. In the ring of guards, Sam hovered at his back, Tori sticking tightly to his side. Holly, gripping Steve's fingers with one hand and his bicep with the other, let him lead her in the correct direction.

Reporters pressed in as well, though it was only three or four from the local affiliate stations that managed to get towards the front of the crowd.

"Captain America, Cap, over here! Any comment on the helicarrier disaster?"

"Cap! You were spotted in Europe recently. Any truth to the allegations that you have been commissioned to hunt down HYDRA terrorists? And has Master Sergeant Wilson been helping the cause?"

"Miss, miss! Who are you, and what's your connection to the Cap?"

That last one was directed at Holly, a recorder thrust under her nose making her stop short. Blinking, she just shook her head, pressing harder into Steve's side, as if doing so would make her invisible. As carefully as he could, Steve reached over with his free hand, propelling the reporter's arm out of her face.

"Excuse us," he managed to get out, forcing everyone to step lively towards the reception tent. Crossing the threshold, he and the others were relieved to find the reporters stopped short by military guards, and the quartet breathed a little easier.

"Well…that was crazy," Holly muttered, her nervous laughter joined by Tori's. The stunned expressions they both sported eased away, while the clamoring beyond began to dissipate. Holly's grip relaxed, though her posture remained stiff. It was one thing to anticipate the onslaught of curious reporters, quite another to have them coming from all sides. All four of them looked up at the same moment, only to find that they were being stared down by several other well-dressed individuals, all in various shades of red, white, and blue. A couple of the ladies had triple-colored flower pins, their counterparts sporting flags on their lapels. Their chatter lulled briefly as they scanned the newcomers with inquisitive eyes. "It's about to get crazier, isn't it?"

"Somewhat," Sam murmured, as the gentlemen in the tent began to move almost as one towards them. Accepting the new arrivals, several of the fellows were hoping for pictures with their childhood hero. Some of them were even eager to meet with Sam, even if it was because of his direct relationship with the captain. Tori and Holly, by default, were absorbed by the wives and other ladies (thought Tori was a little miffed by this, and whispered as much to Holly; the conversation was guaranteed to be either more boring or more probing than it would be had they stayed with the guys. A couple minutes of banal chitchat later proved her right). In the far corner, a band was waiting as their gear was being loaded onstage. An older gentleman, with dark brown hair graying at the temples, was chatting with the lead member for a bit, breaking away once the initial round-up around Steve had thinned. His gray eyes creased at the corners when he smiled at the captain.

Putting his hand forward, he gave Steve and Sam firm handshakes. "Thank you for coming, Captain, Sergeant. I cannot express how happy I am that you agreed to do this."

Steve dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Senator Michaels."

Quickly, the senator went over the chain of action, in which he would introduce him, and then as soon as Steve was finished speaking, he would be free to enjoy the festivities without further obligation.

"You and your friends are welcome to leave then, if you so choose. However, there are quite a few people who would love to meet you," he told him, eyes cutting towards the tent entrance again. Glancing back, Steve could see that the reporters had been replaced by a gaggle of kids, a few of them holding homemade shields, straining to look inside and spot him. When one little girl did, she pointed and waved frantically. Charmed, Steve shot her a little grin and waved back. The rest of the children started cheering at his recognition before they were chased away by both guards and their own mothers. He looked back at Michaels, who was smiling wryly and gestured with one hand as if to say, "kids, what can ya do?"

Maybe they could stick around for an hour or two. No need to rush.

A blonde young man appeared at Michaels' elbow, headset on and a clipboard handy that he consulted swiftly, pushing his glasses up as he did. "We're ready to begin, sir."

In short order, Steve found himself pausing at the the foot of the stairs leading up to the stage, Sam hanging back with him. The girls had been ushered out, pulled along by the other women without being able to do much but wave as they disappeared into the crowd.

As the senator bounded up onto the bunting- and streamer-filled stage, taking a moment to speak himself, Steve leaned over and whispered, "It would probably be bad form to run out now, huh?"

Sam chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder. "Too late for that."

Letting out a breath, Steve closed his eyes, remembering all the theaters he'd been to, the people he'd worked with and the time spent being what the public wanted him to be. Those last moments before going out were always the worst.

"It is a true honor to introduce such a legendary hero today, to help us celebrate Independence Day. Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the one, the only, Captain America, Steven Rogers," Michaels said, stepping away from the microphone and gesturing Steve forward. Slowly, Steve made his way through the well-wishing and handshaking of the other important individuals stationed along the steps. He hardly saw them, focusing on getting to the microphone and unable to hear the click of cameras through the roar of approval from the crowd. Once he was there, though, it registered, and it nearly took his breath away. He barely felt Michaels pump his hand in an enthusiastic shake, his attention drawn to the cheering men and women.

Despite everything, despite the costs, the people still stood with Captain America. And boy, were they glad to see him.

_'No pressure,' _he thought, pulling the cards out his pocket and glancing down at the first one.

"Thank you, thank you all. This isn't the first time I've been asked to come onstage, say a few words about freedom and America's right to have it and defend it. When you're the symbol of a nation wearing the flag as your uniform, you have to expect doing so from time to time," Steve began, pausing as appreciative chuckles permeated the crowd. His lips formed a wry grin as he looked out at everyone standing before him. Soldiers and their wives, kids ranging from all ages, a few statesmen, and plenty of civilians. They were the lucky ones, he mused privately. The undercover agents were moving, as though they were civilians trying to find the best spots. Consulting his note cards, he continued, "Today we celebrate our freedom. Freedom is a privilege and a promise, one for which many have fought and died to keep. It is something which many others are still struggling to attain. We have rights to pursue different avenues in life, the liberty to be who we are, and to achieve happiness as citizens of this nation. Often we are derided for doing so; more often we are threatened. We have the right to stand for ourselves, for the fact that it _is_ our right. We will stand, without fear or fury, to do what we can, when we can, to protect it and the others who cannot. We are among the few who can."

Clearing his throat, he glanced out once more, resolutely ignoring the cameras. His gaze settled on Tori and Holly, who were close to the foot of the stand, staring up at him. Tori's face remained passive, her mouth turning up at one corner. Holly grinned brightly at him, her head tilting down in one slight, subtle nod. Pride, he realized, was on her face. She was proud of him. The warmth in his heart bloomed, firing along his body, and he had to fight to keep his expression properly stoic.

Soon enough he found his voice again, his tone stronger as he finished his speech.

"It was the same back when I was growing up, it was true five months ago, and it will remain true as your sons and daughters, friends and loved ones, continue to rise up in their own ways to meet the promise and price of freedom, laid down so many years ago. It is under this flag, these rights, this promise, that I will gladly live and serve, as will many others. I couldn't do any less for my home, for the liberty and the happiness that life here has to offer. So I salute you, America. Happy Fourth of July, folks."

The last couple of lines were an intentional throwback, one he almost struck from the cards for being too over-the-top, but evidently that didn't matter. The applause that went around was warm, and the real smiles helped dim out the artificial ones plastered on the statesmen's faces. Going the stairs, the others who had remained reached out to pat his on the back and shoulders. Sidestepping the band, the lead singer paused, approval in his expression.

"Good job, dude," he said, the younger fellow putting out his fist. Steve nodded, not sure what to do. Sam, who had been waiting a few feet away, noticed and realized the problem.

"So right, bro," Sam cut in, giving the guy the fist bump he was looking for. Understanding dawned, and Steve quickly did the same, wincing awkwardly as the singer slipped away.

"That can't have been your first fist bump," Sam remonstrated with him later, the pair threading their way through the tent to find a couple chairs. When his friend didn't say anything, he chuckled, "Seriously?"

"I didn't say that. It's just, I'm not used to it yet," Steve defended himself, crossing his arms and leaning back. The return of the ladies preempted any response that Sam had prepared, his attention well-diverted.

"Lovely speech, Captain," Tori said, taking a seat on Sam's lap. Her arms went around his shoulders, and she dipped her chin. "I liked the repetition of the unalienable rights. It was a good chord to strike, I think."

"Thanks," he replied, tilting his head to look up at Holly, who had come to stand just behind his chair. "I had a good writer."

"Yes, Mr. Jefferson was very eloquent, wasn't he?" Holly deflected, shaking her head and hugging him around the shoulders from behind. "So were you. Well done."

"Hey, you know you—"

Before Steve could continue to contradict her, Senator Michaels came into the tent, making a beeline for the quartet. Hastily, Holly withdrew from him, a strange sense of cold encasing him in that second.

"Excellent speech, Captain Rogers! Well done, well done," he effused, vigorously shaking his hand yet again. Idly, Steve wondered if he should begin charging people for handshaking privileges, starting with this guy. No doubt the captain's engagement there would be used as positive press for whenever his next campaign or fundraiser was happening, but at least he had the tact not to say as much. At the very least, now that Steve had made a public appearance of this caliber, the government officials would stay off his case for awhile. At this point, Michaels' words were just white noise to his ears, the relief at being done with it flooding through his body.

An hour stretched into two as Sam, Steve, Holly, and Tori made their way around the park. Frequently they were stopped, for pictures with the little kids, to chat with the other veterans invited to the grounds, even to basic civilians who were just curious and just wanted to ask questions. The guard trailed them discreetly, but never impeded those who approached. Well, except for the reporters; they were strongly dissuaded from approaching without permission. The kids, though, were tickled pink at the prospect of meeting one of the Avengers, and every one of them wanted a picture or a hug, or even a salute. Once or twice, Steve caught Holly giving him warm looks as he spoke with one little boy or even giving a hug to a small girl, her eyes filling with an unnamed emotion when he met her gaze.

At one point, while Steve and Sam were surrounded by a group of boys holding out cardboard shields and wings to be autographed, the girls vanished. When they reappeared, they had flimsy fairground food containers in hand. When the fellows finished with their signing and group picture taken by the boys' mothers, they were grateful to indulge in whatever was brought (when Sam noted the giant container of cheese curds Holly had bought, she just rolled her eyes and told him not to judge, popping one in her mouth before sharing with Steve. The opportunities for getting good ones from Wisconsin were few and far between, she confessed, so she'd take what she could get).

Pulling his phone out of his pocket several minutes later, Sam checked the time and sighed, "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to go. I think I'm melting."

Steve readily concurred, with the girls agreeing as well. Swiftly, quietly, they made their way out of the park, slipping past the civilians with little nods and waves here and there as they went. All of them had the feeling of being overwhelmed, and were glad to be heading out. Halfway back to the house, it occurred to Steve that they'd forgotten to drop Holly off at her home. Shrugging to himself, he figured that he could take her home himself, after spending some time away from the chaos.

When they got back to the house, he noticed the black sports vehicle parked on the street, and the front windows were all wide open. Getting out of the car, he could hear a record playing swing music inside.

He groaned. "Why did we give Natasha a spare key?"

A grin split upon Sam's lips. "I will point out that it was your idea to do so."

"Natasha's here?" Holly asked, her eyebrows quirking together, just as Tori wondered aloud who Natasha was. Foreboding descended onto the captain, and carefully he tripped up the steps, his companions hot on his heels. Turning the doorknob, he could have sworn he head one of them smother a giggle, but he didn't comment on it. Instead, he walked down the hall to the kitchen...

And was met with the sight of a large "happy birthday" banner strung from one end of the room to the other. A few balloons were attached, and a couple streamers were wound around the room. The svelte redhead appeared from around the corner, tossing up confetti and propping up a portable speaker as it pumped out the birthday song on the table. The music clashed with the record player in the living room, but that hardly mattered.

Shocked, Steve felt his jaw drop. "Holy cow."

"What, you didn't think we'd forget, did you?" Sam asked, punching him lightly in the arm. Steve blinked a few times, his tongue tied.

To be honest, he hadn't given it much thought himself. When he much younger, it was good fun to have his birthday on Independence Day; even when he and his mom had very little, she still managed to scrape enough together to make him a happy birthday boy. It became less and less important as he grew up, but it became an annoyance once he took up the mantle of Captain America. Back then, when he told people his birthday was the Fourth of July, they either scoffed or cracked far too many jokes about the coincidence. Eventually, he learned to not tell anyone his birth date. He stopped caring about it, it just becoming another day, another federal holiday. During the war, he had other things to worry about, and when he "woke up" two years ago, he did not want to mark the occasion. It was just a reminder of how much time had truly passed, how much he'd lost.

Looking at the pile of presents on the table, the cake and candles perched on the counter, and the people, the friends who had pulled this together without him knowing about it, he began to realize what he had gained, too.

* * *

**A/N:** HOLY CROW, you guys. I had to split the chapter. _Again. _But worry not, for the last part of the day's events will be posted the same day as these, so you won't miss out!

Well, there you have it, Steve's speech. Whether or not it was any good, I'll leave you to judge it. That sucker went through three or four rewrites, so I can only hope it read well.

Thanks for reading this chapter, now quick, onto the next so we can wrap up the Fourth of July celebrations and you can leave me a lovely review! (No pressure; do what you like. I don't want to push.)


	19. Chapter 19

The house was in a flurry of chaos in the hour following the group's arrival. After getting over the initial shock of discovering not only Natasha Romanoff but birthday accouterments in the kitchen, Steve found enough of his voice to mutter quiet thanks to his friends, a full smile breaking out on his lips. Natasha waved it away, though her little grin grew as she expressed how it was Sam's idea to put together the small party. However, before the festivities could truly begin, the formal wear needed to be dropped, and so the newly returned quartet went their separate ways to change. Holly, with Sam's permission, borrowed the SUV to get back home and do so, though Tori had been preempted from doing so herself by Sam borrowing her some of his clothes. By the time Holly had returned, clothes changed and gift in hand, Natasha was paying off a pizza delivery man and had things set to rights for dinner.

"I had thought you'd be off elsewhere today," Steve said to Natasha, coming out of his room wearing a t-shirt and jeans in place of his previous get-up. Helping himself to a slice of the New York style, he glanced down at her, wondering what her answer would be. As part of her figuring out her life, she'd begun a journey of her own, taking her to all corners of the globe. There had been no guarantee that she'd be around for Independence Day, let alone for anything involving his birthday. She shrugged, tossing her hair as she grabbed a slice of pepperoni and leaned against the counter.

"I was going to be, but...well, Sam caught me at a good time, asked me for a favor. Reminded me that I have things here to be a part of, as well as out there," she said, her face creasing wistfully. Shaking her head, she headed to the fridge, withdrawing a beer. "Besides, it was worth it to see the look on your face."

Steve snorted, casting his gaze down on the floor speckled with confetti. "I would hope so. Because we're going to be finding confetti for months after this."

"Hey, Birthday Boy, ditch the grumps and eat your pizza," another voice cut in, Holly reaching around him to get her dinner. He shot her a reprimanding look, though there was a flash of humor and warmth in his eyes. As she walked away she stuck her tongue out at him and smiled, grabbing a seat at the table and chatting to Tori about their workplace irritants. Natasha observed silently, smirking when Steve realized he was staring after her and cleared his throat.

"Right," he mumbled to himself, passing his free hand through his hair. A second or two later, he maneuvered around Natasha to get into the icebox, grabbing a can of soda for himself. Nat's eyes tracked him as he went, and when the intensity got to be too much, he groaned, "What?"

Natasha shook her head, eyes bright as she sidled by him. Nothing more was said, but he thought he spotted an instance of amusement in her gaze as she went to take her seat at the table as well. Stewing over what she possibly wasn't saying, he let out a low sigh before joining the rest of the party, a silent entity as the others chattered around him.

When the provided dinner had been devoured, and they had given themselves some time to digest, the cake was laid out on the table, and Steve barked out a sarcastic laugh.

"Oh, you've gotta be kidding me."

"What?" Sam asked innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. "There something wrong with it?"

Given that on the cake's face was an image of the Iron Man mask, Steve couldn't do much more than raise his eyebrows incredulously and snicker. Natasha shrugged, inserting a couple candles directly into the eye slits.

"At least now, the next time Tony responds with 'bite me,' I can tell him I already have."

Five candles were settled on, with the obligatory "too many candles will set off the smoke detector" joke made in due course. As Holly lit the candles and turned off the overhead lights, the others launched into a round of the traditional song, with Tori going off with "Feliz Cumpleaños." When Sam tried to continue with the next chorus involving age and looking like a monkey, Steve told him to stuff a sock in it and leaned forward, staring down at the lit confection. He sat there for a moment, pondering what he could wish for.

_'For Bucky to come back. For peace of mind. For...' _his train of thought trailed off, before making up his mind to just blow out the candles and get it over with. Thank God, his high metabolism was good for something; he could pack away food all through the day and still have room for cake. He might have to run an extra mile or two the next day, but hey, he was okay with that. His corner piece, containing the upper right bit of the helmet, was delicious.

Before long, the pile of packages were pushed to the center of the table, and he couldn't hold back his smile.

Even though a grown man, with evidently many decades under his belt, Steve felt his heart beat in exhilaration when it came time to open his presents. As a child of a poor family, he was always grateful when his mom, or Bucky, could get enough money together for a present. It was more difficult in his teenage years, as the thirties and the Depression had robbed him and his mother of even the most rudimentary of things, but even he couldn't suppress the disappointment he'd felt when another year had gone by and the most he and his mom could get was maybe a little extra food. He took it in stride, better than some boys would have, but deep down, buried underneath the sense of practicality, it still hurt. So the prospect of actually receiving anything without cost or need for repayment was enough to get him excited.

The first one he opened was from Sam, a big box containing a custom bike helmet. It was dark red, but instead of being decorated with his insignia or even a standard star, there was only the word "Brooklyn" stenciled across the back. He'd placed the order awhile ago, and it had finally arrived on Wednesday. Sam confessed he'd scrambled to get it wrapped period, let alone finding a hiding spot for it before today.

Natasha, subtly pushing a smaller box towards him, had chosen her gift while she had made a detour in Russia. Out of it came a wall charm, a horseshoe decorated with three bells and a blessing scrawled across it in her mother tongue. For health and for luck, she told him, raising an eyebrow significantly. Gesturing towards two envelopes, she indicated that Clint and Dr. Banner also sent their greetings and well wishes. With Thor off-world for the moment, there was nothing from him, but Steve knew better than to expect anything. It made him shudder to think what Thor might consider a worthy birthday present, considering how things varied incredibly between Asgard and Earth.

The smallest gift was still wrapped in parcel paper, the return address from New York. Inside, nestled in some gauzy material, was a little black lump. Carefully, Steve extracted it, rotating it between his fingers.

"Tony sent me a...a thing?" He looked askance at the others, who either shrugged or verbally indicated that they couldn't identify it.

"Looks like an earbud, or a really small Bluetooth receiver," posited Sam, which prompted Steve to tuck it into his ear. Seemed kind of like the ear pieces that SHIELD had provided the agents with, though this was much smaller.

As soon as it was in place, a soothing voice spoke, "Hello, Captain Rogers."

Jerking his head back in surprise, Steve managed to stammer, "Oh, hi, JARVIS."

Motioning to his ear, he mouthed to the others, _Can you hear this? _When they responded in the negative, he got up from the table and excused himself, leaving Natasha to explain the existence of Stark's personal AI to a discombobulated Tori and Holly. Entering his room, he closed the door behind him and took a seat at his desk, not wanting to talk to thin air and look like a lunatic.

"Mr. Stark sends his wishes for a happy birthday," JARVIS said, as if he'd known precisely when Steve had gotten out of earshot. He probably did know, to be truthful, but he wasn't going to focus on that right now.

"I'm sure he does. He could've called," the captain responded, playfully acerbic.

"This is somewhat more reliable than a cellphone, sir. He wanted something to establish a more direct connection. He also wishes you to utilize me in any ongoing searches you are participating in."

_'Snoop,' _he thought to himself. The billionaire was in for dissatisfaction in that regard; perhaps it was a good thing Steve and Sam had halted the search for Bucky. Tony would have wanted to be all over that in a hot second once JARVIS got tapped in.

"Are the others getting a link as well?" It stood to reason; though the com-link was a unique Stark piece, Steve had a hunch that he wouldn't be the only one to own such a thing.

"Eventually. Christmas is just around the corner, as Mr. Stark had said. Yours is the first made, with command overrides in place so that you can give directives to me or through me as needed. The others will not be built with the same feature."

For the second time that day, Steve felt shock slide through his system. Tony was granting him access, true access, to his ever-faithful AI, his second in command. Words stalled in his throat as he contemplated the enormity of the situation.

"Well..." Steve finally said in a whisper, "tell him I said thank you."

"I shall. If you wish to cease communications and continue celebrating with your guests, you need only remove the piece."

He dipped his head in a nod, belatedly chiding himself for doing so when it couldn't be seen. "Thanks again, JARVIS."

"You're welcome, Captain." With that, he took the earpiece out, placing it on the desktop and rising from the chair. A tap came at his door, a soft request to enter coming from the other side.

"Come in."

The door cracked open, Holly slipping in and closing it behind her swiftly. She kept her hands behind her back, leaning backwards against the frame. "The others have wandered off to the living room, so I came by to check in. Is everything okay? Do you still have the earpiece in?"

"No, no, it's out. Everything's pretty good, all things considered," Steve told her, sitting on the end of his bed. "Sorry I left."

"No, I get it. It'd be weird, carrying on a conversation nobody else could hear," she excused him, extracting one hand and waving it dismissively.

"Yeah," he replied, his expression turning suspicious as he noted her posture. The small of her back was not against the wooden paneling, and her right hand remained tucked between it and the wall. "What are you doing?"

She grinned ruefully, withdrawing her arm and holding up the present she'd been concealing. Dropping down next to him, she handed it off, rubbing the back of her neck as he looked it over.

"Last birthday gift. It's not AI provided by a billionaire genius, but, well..." she said, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ears. "Happy birthday."

The red wrapping paper formed a rectangular shape, the object not large. Giving it a little shake, Steve thought he might have heard a shift of glass, and gently he began to pry away the tape holding it together.

"You know, I thought you were kidding when you told me this was your actual birthday," Holly remarked lightly, bumping his shoulder with her own.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Believe me, there were times when I wished it were a joke."

"Well, it wouldn't be as impressive if the Star-Spangled Man was born on another day."

"Thank my mother for the impeccable timing," he muttered, Holly chuckling as got the last of the paper off.

With the coverings pulled away, Steve found that he was holding a picture frame in his hands, upside down. Turning it over, he could see inside the frame was a photograph, one she had taken a month or two ago in order to appease her friend's curiosity. It had been during one of their evenings watching _Star Wars_, and she asked him so politely to take the picture, as she couldn't stand being harangued any longer and she really needed the favor. Conceding, he'd crammed on his ball cap and false glasses just in time for her to lean over and throw her arm around his shoulders, her phone held up at a slightly downward angle. For a few moments, the side of her face pressed into his as she finagled with the onscreen button, the corner of his mouth turning up at her command to smile.

The front frame had been painted blue, tiny calligraphy crawling across in white. It bore the hallmarks of homemade work, with some of the text angling slightly here and there. Holly was never confident in her artistic abilities, he knew that firsthand. For him, it would have been simple, being able to manipulate a brush as well as a pencil, but he knew she had to have labored over it.

Tracing a finger around the frame, his expression held a myriad of emotions when he finally looked back at the girl sitting by his side once more.

"Holly...this is...thank you." He couldn't have sounded more inarticulate, he chastised himself, but he was impressed by the personal touch she'd given the gift.

She dropped her gaze to her knees, but she couldn't hide the red blush coming into her cheeks. "You're welcome, Steve."

Studying the words again, he collected himself and cleared his throat. "What do these mean? Are they from a poem?"

"Oh, they're a couple of song lyrics," she explained, scooting in closer and reaching out a finger to outline one of the words. "I was looking up music awhile ago, and this song came up, made me think of you."

Taking his phone off the charger, she held it up in question. "You want to listen to it?"

He nodded, unlocking the screen and passing it back. He watched her fingers flick nimbly as she searched online for the song. "Sure."

Strains of violins came out of the phone's speakers, though soon enough they were accompanied by a deep, crooning voice. Steve recognized it as belonging to a young Canadian man who made a name for himself singing the swing and jazz tunes he'd grown up with. Despite preferring the original artists, he could appreciate the new fellow's take on the music. His foot tapped lightly along to the beat, while Holly began to sway minutely from side to side, pressing against him on the alternate notes. Watching her close her eyes to listen, Steve mimicked her, letting it wash over him.

When the song mentioned how life had the chance to become more exciting as it went on, that love could be found inside or close at hand, Steve could feel his heart thrum as the thoughts turned over in his brain. It hadn't been so long since he'd last seen Peggy, sitting by her bedside as he poured over old photographs and heard her life's story after he'd gone down in 1945. She had no regrets, he knew that much, save for the fact that they had missed their chance. In the interim, she had found happiness, something she'd recognized that he had not found. Her voice strong in spite of the creaking warble that had taken it over. The look she'd given him was filled with remorse, and pity. Her life had been long and filled with the good, and she wished his could have been the same.

Their time had come and gone, a dance in which they'd touched once before spinning off the floor. For the longest time, he thought he would only have room in his heart for Peggy. But, he realized, his blue eyes snapping open, that wasn't true. In his heart, he could honor her and their memories, but they did not have to be the only ones. Peggy was giving him her blessing to do so, he could acknowledge that now.

He could live a life, his life. In fact, he'd already started, the brunette bopping beside him having helped him along the way to that discovery.

The singer continued to croon in the background, the words reflecting up at him from the picture frame in his hands. The lyrics resonated, and strengthened his resolve.

And so with that thought, Steve Rogers made a conscious effort to continue living. Gently curling his arm around Holly's waist, he locked gazes with her for several moments, their breathing intermingling with the last chords of the song. It seemed an easy thing, then, to next press a kiss on her temple, but it had taken a considerable bit of gumption to do so, and he gathered her up the rest of the way in his embrace, eyes shutting tightly as both their hearts hammered in their chests.

"Thank you."

* * *

**A/N:** ...BOOM!

And there you have it: the last part of the 4th of July events.

I have been sitting on this chapter for SO LONG, you have no idea how happy I am to finally get it out in the open. Seriously, I had the idea for this chapter's actions in my head for weeks.

The song mentioned obliquely is _Young at Heart_, and is not my property. Nor is Mr. Michael Bublé, whom I adore though may never meet. Give it a listen, I think you'll like it; I think it suits Steve well. ;)

And yes, I will be seeing _Age of Ultron_ this weekend. I will be wearing my Captain America gear, and you probably hear my happy squealing around the world.

Thanks for sticking through all this, PLEASE REVIEW, and I will see you all for the next chapter!


	20. Chapter 20

Holly had grown up knowing she had an overactive imagination. It allowed her to make stories come alive. When she was little, it was playacting with her dolls and action figures (hand-me-downs from her brother, who insisted he would only let her play with them if she called them by their proper title). When she grew up, it became a main component in her writing; she liked transmitting ideas from her head to the page, with vivid scenery, emotional undertones, and the people acting as she commanded them to.

That being said, she was also well aware of how she could get carried away with those thoughts. She fought hard to be rational in the real world, and was for the most part successful. The fantasies remained in her mind.

But when she found herself living in a world where superior beings were crawling out of the woodwork and doing extraordinary things, she understood that reality was more fanciful than she first perceived it to be. And when she was embraced by a man who was one of those superior beings, it was even more obvious. Even when the clouds began to disperse and he remained at her side, holding her hand and giving her that awkward half-smile that she secretly adored, it still seemed unreal.

Did Steve Rogers really just kiss her, albeit on the temple? Was it possible that he honestly, truly, returned the feelings she'd been harboring for him for some time? It didn't seem like he could; Steve was a legend, a person who had a hand in the protection of the world and in the grander scheme of events that revolved around it. There was more for him to be concerned with than anything that involved her. But...then again, he didn't vanish after the touch, didn't draw away. Her heart hammered at the prospect, and she found her lips pulling into a wide smile.

The world had seemingly tilted on its axis once again, but this time she was an active participant in the changes occurring around her. Later, she would put a more poetical spin on the situation, but in that moment, all she could think was that Steve had made a move. It wasn't an action torn straight from a harlequin novel, but then again, she could hardly expect him to making larger gestures so early in the endeavor.

And in any case, it felt like the right choice.

The rest of the evening, though he stayed by her side, and she was brought back to reality enough to continue mingling with the other guests in the house, a part of her mind was still walking on air. It stayed with her even after he drove her home, with the promise of calling her within the next day or two and his holding her for a long moment on her doorstep. It was a sweet feeling, and she let it fill her up.

That lasted until the next day.

The morning after Independence Day, a Saturday, Holly awoke to find that her cell phone was not perched on her nightstand, but was still stashed in the clutch. She had ditched it yesterday afternoon, remembering only to grab her license and Steve's present when she'd returned briefly to change clothes. Somehow, her phone had been left behind and was on silent, and all in all, she hadn't missed it terribly.

Retrieving it a few moments later, she began to wish she'd never wondered where it was. Or that it had died from sitting overnight without charging.

There were several missed calls, mostly from unknown numbers, though she found her parents and siblings had entered the mix. Some had left messages, but she did not answer those. Instead, it was the litany of text messages from her acquaintances in the DC area that caught her attention, each one of them having some variation of, "Was this you?" as the main text, accompanied by one picture or another of her on Steve's arm.

She had known, from the moment Steve asked her to join him at the celebrations, that there would be no hiding from public scrutiny. However, she had repressed that knowledge, figuring the worst people could do would be to speculate on who she was, and that she could live with. The fact that her own friends were reacting so quickly and strongly was a bit stunning. And, evidently, word had spread far enough to reach her own family, too. She'd hoped there would be a few days in between all the discoveries, but clearly that was not meant to be.

Apparently, Captain America escorting a young lady anywhere created quite a stir. Probably because he had previously so devoted to his missions and to serving the world that young women never seemed to enter the picture.

She snorted to herself. _'God forbid the man have a social life period, let alone it involving me.'_

At least the photos were tasteful, and didn't catch her in a compromising condition. Some were pulled directly from online articles, and she made a mental note to look into those later. Written words would have more impact, and she wanted to see what was being said.

The message that really stuck out was Sarah's. It seemed, every hour on the hour from four in the afternoon to midnight, she'd sent a repeat of the same message, all in capital letters: _WE NEED TO TALK. NOW. _She sighed, knowing her friend would be relentless in her pursuit, and feeling a bit peeved in spite of understanding that fact. With her thoughts all jumbled and churning as they were, she was not seeking a confrontation in any way. Still, it would only be putting off the inevitable if she ignored the messages.

The phone beeped in her hand. Sarah again. Gritting her teeth, Holly swiped her fingers over the keyboard. Might as well get it over with.

_Okay, I'm ready._

The lack of immediate response took Holly aback, but as the minutes ticked by and there was no reply, either in text or call, she shrugged to herself, facetiously supposing Sarah had been shocked into a coma once she finally got back to her.

Then: _I'm coming over at noon. This is not something we can talk about over the phone._

"Really wish it was," Holly muttered, toothbrush clenched in her mouth as she used her hands to invite her best friend to come when she could.

**xXxXxXx**

When Sarah finally did arrive, she did not expect to have to usher herself in, nor did she expect Holly to barely acknowledge her as she came through the door. She found out why soon enough. As she stormed in, she could see the ever-present laptop was open, her friend peering at it with a mixture of aggravation and amusement.

"Who's there?" a deep voice broke through, alerting Sarah to the fact that Holly was participating in a video chat. Coming around to the back of the couch, she crossed her arms and stood erect, her bag flapping over her shoulder.

Holly, rolling her eyes, grabbed the computer and tilted it up, allowing the person to see for himself. "Just Sarah, Hank."

Holly's older brother, for the most part, looked no different, though perhaps the long expression he sported made him look older than his thirty-one years. Seated in what looked like a den of sorts, he leaned forward before raising a hand in greeting. His thin lips twitched in some semblance of a smile, his dark hair falling into his eyes as he shook his head. "Hey, Sare."

"Hey, there. You just joining the program, or have you been around for awhile?"

"Holly finally deigned to return my calls," he replied, a corner of his mouth lifting but his face remaining serious otherwise. "Been talking for a few minutes."

"I tried to wrap it up before you got here, but _someone_," Holly murmured, hooking her thumb at the screen, "insisted on rehashing all the little details."

"Guilty. But a big brother does want to know what his sister is up to with a guy, even if he is a superhero," Hank commented wryly. "Probably especially if he is a superhero; can't have him thinking he's entitled because he beat up some aliens once."

"Henry," Holly scolded him, his given name causing him to glare at her. Setting the computer back down on the coffee table, she went on, "If you knew Steve at all, you would know that is most definitely not his mindset. And in any case, I already told you: it wasn't anything. Are you even listening to me, or are you just one-tracking this whole conversation?"

Something about what she proclaimed didn't sound right to Sarah, who shot her a curious look but said nothing.

"Did you know about all this?" Hank suddenly asked Sarah, bringing her back into the fray.

"I thought she was just hanging out with some guy called Steve," she supplied, Hank passing a hand over his face. She seated herself next to her friend, waving a hand uselessly at the camera. "Little did I know she was helping pull a Clark Kent with Captain America."

Legitimately, too; the dorky glasses and ball cap had done their work, even if the good looks beneath them were obvious. She had suspected something peculiar about him for some time, but she hadn't suspected her friend spending time with a national hero. Boy, did she feel like an idiot.

Holly raised a finger, her eyebrows inclining. "Hey now, I didn't help him pull anything."

Just as Hank opened his mouth, she swung around to face him again. "Take that out of context and I swear to God..."

Hank raised his hands in defense. "Wasn't gonna."

The smirk he had on claimed otherwise, but she let it slide. "Good."

Sarah shook her head, scooping her bag off the floor and producing the online articles that she printed off before coming over. Laying them on the table, she watched as Holly's gaze flicked from one to the other, centering on the tabloid-esque headlines and grinding her teeth in irritation. "Back to the issue at hand—"

Holly narrowed her eyes. "There is no issue."

"—I want to know why you've been hiding it from everyone," she finished. As her friend's brow creased petulantly, Sarah pointed out, "You trended on Twitter. And Facebook. You can't exactly clam up now, not to us at least."

Sighing, Holly looked away, chewing her lip as she thought. Her brother waited patiently, actually raising an eyebrow while he silently anticipated her answer.

"It wasn't my right to say anything. I didn't feel like it was my right," she responded slowly, piecing her thoughts together. "Steve deserves privacy as much as the next person, and because he is who he is, he doesn't get it all that much. I respected that by keeping my mouth shut. What I thought was okay to talk about, I did, but it didn't seem fair to expose him like that."

She had a point, but that did not necessarily mean they had to like it. Her brother frowned. "But then he paraded you all over Washington yesterday and completely exposed _you_."

"Not true," she contradicted him, face turning red in anger. "I'd hardly call it 'parading.' And it was my choice to go."

Sarah snorted. "Because you would have refused to go anywhere with _Captain America_?"

"If I didn't want to, then yes!" Holly practically yelled, slamming her fist against her knee. "Damn it, you two know better than that! You know me, you know that I thought it out. And you both damn well know that if I didn't like someone, I wouldn't voluntarily spend time with them. No matter who they were."

Holly shot them both harsh looks, perversely pleased to see them look slightly chastised at her words.

"Steve was my friend, which made me okay with going with him. What I'm not okay with is being treated like an imbecile unaware of the consequences of doing so. Especially by you guys," she stated firmly. Gesturing to the printed sheets of paper, she concluded, "I'm going to get enough speculation from strangers. Please don't pile on."

A long pause followed, in which the only audible sound were the calming breaths Holly was taking. Clearing his throat, Hank ventured, "So you don't want me to point out that, ultimately, you brought this all on yourself?"

Groaning, Holly threw up her hands and walked away, going into the kitchen to get some semblance of space.

"That would've been more impressive if you'd shut the computer off first!" her brother yelled, his shoulders shaking with laughter. Sarah couldn't help but crack a grin, looking over her shoulder to see Holly flip the bird at the monitor from around the corner, but staying out of sight in the meantime.

Eventually, she came back in, ready to reach an understanding with her big brother. Ultimately, the choice of whom she spent time with was hers, but if the public backlash got to be too intense, she did have support to go to. And it was going to get more intense the longer she stuck around her friend, Hank cheerfully predicted. Promising to talk more about it later, Holly belatedly remembered to ask him to give his daughter a kiss from her favorite aunt.

"Oh, I'm sure Jodie would love getting a kiss from Heather," he remarked, grinning wide. His eyes, though, held the same look of concern they'd contained for the entirety of the video call. It was that that made Holly soften her rebuke, and return his pensive expression.

"Dork," she called him. Quietly, she asked, "Talk to Mom and Dad for me, and Heather, too?"

He sighed, inclining his head in agreement. "You'll have to talk to them yourself at some point, though."

Holly cut her gaze from the computer to Sarah, who had replaced her annoyed expression with one of passivity. "One at a time. I'll call Mom in a couple days."

With a final good-bye, she clicked off the program, closing the laptop and turning to face Sarah. Suddenly, the words seemed to fly out of her head, and she shrugged her shoulders.

"I, I'm not sure what else I can say. I mean..."

Sarah leaned back into the couch cushions, not quite looking at her. "I came here with righteous indignation, but now that some time has passed, it's not so strong."

Holly relaxed her posture, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm not sure apologizing would work at this point, because I'm not sorry for what went on, but I am sorry that I kept you in the dark for so long."

"I get that. 'Sorry' doesn't quite cover it, but I do understand why you didn't say anything," Sarah murmured. "I just...I didn't like being the last to know about what was happening to my best friend."

"I still told you more than I told my family."

Sarah placed a finger against her chin, pondering the point. "That is true."

Looking down at the articles again, Holly picked them up, scanning over them as swiftly as she could. Some were hardly flattering, some wondering if she had been hired to be Steve's companion or provided as an incentive for his appearing at the function (disgusting and insulting). A couple, however, wondered if love was in the air for the Star-Spangled Man and Miss Everyday (at least that nickname was better than others), and those she set down right away, feeling the red creep back into her face. Green eyes tracked her movements, and when she chanced to look up, she saw her best friend staring very carefully at her.

"What?"

"It _wasn't_ anything, he _was_ your friend." She paused, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. Off Holly's confused look, she clarified, "Past tense. You used past tense, meaning that something has changed."

Unconsciously, Holly traced a finger over one of the photographs, one in which she and Steve were surrounded by a couple children. He was crouched low, with her bending at the waist behind him, one of the kids in the forefront gesturing to both of them. She couldn't recall if the little boy had said something funny or sweet at the moment, but the adults both had bright smiles on their faces as they looked to one another. The trepidation in her eyes melted away, a grin forming on her face.

"Yeah...something has."

"Well then," Sarah said, tucking her legs underneath her and sitting up straighter, "tell me all about it. Don't leave out details this time."

Laughing at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, Holly sat back and prepared for the afternoon to get much longer. "Well, after we got back from the park..."

**xXxXxXx**

The cell phone rested in Steve's hands, the dark screen reflecting his distorted image as he stared at it. The Sunday evening light softened the angles and edges, casting its warm glow around the bedroom. He breathed deep, gathering courage. Like he was on a mission, like he was rolling out to confront HYDRA, ready to meet his objective. This wasn't a battle, he reminded himself. The results of his actions now would be much different than those experiences. They definitely had the potential to be more pleasant, for one.

_'Just do it. Be a man and make the call.'_

Steeling his nerves, he tapped the side button, switching the screen on and sliding his fingers around the numbers. As the dial tone started, his free hand tucked itself into a pocket, otherwise holding himself perfectly still.

The click and shift on the other end of line came through after a few moments. The voice on the other end sounded a little tired, though warmth infused the tone. "Hi."

"Hey, Holly," he responded, brow furrowing. "You okay?"

"Oh...yeah, I'm all right. Things have been a little crazy on my end the past couple days," she explained, with what sounded like a quiet snort accompanying the words. "Word gets out fast, it seems."

That was hardly a surprise. With the sudden public appearance of Captain America, not to mention his companions, journalists had been trying to get in touch with him over the last couple of days. He could only thank God that his phone number wasn't publicly known. Some had gone the circuitous route of contacting Sam through his VA email (which, upon discovering that, he had it deleted from the website), and a couple others had been forwarded through Senator Michaels' offices. Those had been ignored and deleted as quickly as they were heard.

"At least that much hasn't changed," he muttered ruefully. Focusing on her tone, he wondered, "Are you being harassed?"

"Not entirely. Not from outside sources, at least." As if she could sense his confusion through the phone, she continued, "Friends and family wanted details."

"Ah."

"Yeah. The reporters haven't managed to pin me down quite yet."

And with any luck, they wouldn't for awhile. On the back burner, he had JARVIS subverting the press, preventing anyone from accessing records to find her, at home or at work. He was also using the AI to look into avenues they could take in regards to maintaining a higher level of privacy for her, as anonymity was no longer an option. As well as that, the baseball bat she carried most likely wasn't going to cut it, in regards to personal protection. An upgrade, a serious upgrade, would have to be made.

But that was assuming...a lot. And he knew exactly what happened when he assumed anything. He had to test the waters first.

"Trying to remain elusive, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

_'Oh, very clever,' _his brain muttered sarcastically, but he pushed the words away.

She chuckled, a throaty one that sparked along his veins as he heard it. "Only to certain people."

Sitting on the end of his bed, he drew in another deep breath. Steady, calm now...

"You'll have to break cover sometime."

He could almost see her shrugging her shoulders as she paused to consider it. "I suppose you're right. I'll have to go out and get supplies eventually."

Clearing his throat, Steve shook his head to himself. "I was thinking...maybe a little sooner than that. And for something else."

There was quiet on her end of the line again, but it didn't last very long. Holly murmured, very cautiously, "How soon, and for what?"

_'Come on, Rogers. You can do this.'_

"This Friday. For a date," he said, praying that he wouldn't fumble the words. It didn't matter what year it was, 1942 or 2014: asking a gal out was still a nerve-wracking notion. Mainly because the potential of rejection was so high, or at least it had been in his experience. And the one date he did manage to make prior to this, well, he wasn't able to get around to it.

"...Yeah. Yes, I can do that," she answered, cutting into his musings. Her delighted tone caused relief and careful happiness to flood through his body.

"Okay, yeah," he replied, mimicking a motion he'd seen many young men of the day make and pumping his fist once in the air. He made sure not to give it away in his voice, though. "Friday, then."

As they discussed details, such as time and what exactly they would be doing, the little voice that had chanted in his head went silent, save for one last thought: _Keep the date this time._

* * *

**A/N:** ...Yep, that just happened.

Okay, sorry for the late-ish update, everyone. After doing three chapters in one week, I had to take a break for a few days, to let it all soak in and process, but here is the next one for you all.

Holly's brother finally makes an appearance, and is lovingly reminding her of the very public stage she's putting herself on, regardless of her reasons for doing so.

I don't own Clark Kent/Superman. Belongs to DC. However, I think it's so hilarious/stupid that Steve basically did pull a Clark Kent in _CA:TWS._

And yeah, a date! We'll see how that goes...next time. ;)

Oh, and as far as AoU goes: I really liked it. I've been asked not to spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it yet, but I will say that it was good fun. Granted, there were some parts I didn't care for, but overall it was so cool, and I can't wait until it comes out on DVD so I can officially own it!

Thanks all for reading and for being so patient in between updates, please give this a review, and I will see you all for the next one!


	21. Chapter 21

Around eight o'clock, three light knocks came at the door. Holly, seated on the couch with a Sherlock Holmes novel in hand, looked up sharply, the last paragraph she'd read forgotten. Rising from her seat, she deposited the book on the coffee table in front of her, turning down the music playing on her laptop and attempting to still the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

Even now, moments from the event, a part of her still marveled at the fact that it—the date Steve had asked her on—was really going to happen. For the last few days, it'd felt like she was walking on air, making the stares she'd received at work bearable (Carl did not say much about her Independence Day actions; he merely lamented that she hadn't told him sooner. The store could've used the publicity, or an endorsement from the Cap). The furor over the photographs had calmed a little after two or three days, but she could still feel sidelong glances being shot at her in the grocery store line or when she went out with Sarah. Those were ignored, for the most part. People seemed to keep a wary distance from her, as if they weren't quite sure what to make of her being in their presence, or if she was even the person they were thinking about at all.

That was pushed back, shunted far down as she had gathered up items for the evening prior to the door knocks. Once or twice they resurfaced, along with her worries about going out in public with Captain America again and what would happen once someone realized who he was, but she determinedly pushed on. She could deal with the fact that his heroic standing would follow them around, but it wasn't her main focus.

Her main focus was that she was going out with Steve Rogers, and that was enough.

Smoothing down her blouse and brushing her fingers through her hair, she took a deep breath before opening the door. _'You're being silly. Remember, this is still Steve, good old—'_

The door swung open, and she was greeted with the appearance of her companion. He had chosen a red-checked short-sleeved shirt, though the top three buttons were undone to reveal a black undershirt underneath. His legs were swathed in dark jeans, a concession to the times, but not a full one (shorts were something he avoided wearing in public, if he could possibly help it). The fact that he, once again, sported a ball cap, barely registered as her eyes drank in the sight of him. Both of his hands were pressed behind his back, his gaze returning hers frankly. His smile was tentative at first, strengthening as she returned it.

_'—Very cut, very attractive Steve Rogers,'_ her brain sing-songed, dancing a little at the thought. _'Wonder if I can get him to dress up in a full suit sometime. Oh, man...'_

"Hi," she breathed, attempting to get a hold of herself.

"Hey," he replied, almost a little shyly. His eyes flicked over her swiftly, and she held herself still. She had no qualms about wearing shorts, especially in July, but she'd elected to wear a blouse instead of her usual t-shirt, and her flip-flops had been replaced with better sandals. "You look nice. Pretty."

She shrugged and half-grinned, trying to not let the compliment go to her head. "Thank you. You look nice, too. Handsome, I mean."

It was true, to her least, and had been since they first met. If he'd come parading around in a burlap sack, she thought she'd still probably think that way. Ducking his head, she barely caught the sardonic smile he'd given the statement. "Yeah, well..."

Ushering him in, Holly waited until he had passed before she faced him fully again. Inwardly, she was chiding herself for not being very much good at the opening date lines, but that was dashed aside when Steve held out his right hand.

"I, uh, got you something. I know it's corny nowadays, but I thought...well, anyway, for you."

It was a small posy of flowers, light blue and without an overbearing scent. Forget-me-nots, her mind supplied the name as she took them. Usually, Steve would have been right; giving flowers at this point was a little corny, but it was sweet. Just like him. It made sense to her that he would do something like that, given how his formative years were spent in a time where doing such a thing was the norm.

"You know what? I like corny," she proclaimed, coming up beside him and laying her free hand on his shoulder, squeezing it gently. That time he couldn't hide the gladness in his gaze. "Thank you. I'll just put these in water."

They fit in her smallest vase, which was at least a step up from a water glass (which she feared that she would have to resort to). Following her into the kitchen, Steve discovered the small cooler and blanket set up on the counter, ready to go for the main event. Initially he had suggested dinner and possibly a movie as the date, and she had agreed, but with a twist. A nearby park hosted public showings of films throughout the summer, and she thought it would suit their purposed right down to the ground. Privately, she thought it would be better all around for the evening to be casual; less pressure that way. The movie being shown that Friday was a classic (in her terms; he said he'd remain skeptical for the time being, no matter what she claimed) and she was certain they'd both enjoy it.

"I grabbed the takeout on the way over," he said, revealing the containers he'd been hiding behind his back. Shuffling around the sodas and other snacks in the cooler to make room for them, he swiftly clicked the lid in place. "Figured I'd save us both some time so we wouldn't have to stop fo something on the way."

The smell of Chinese food taunted Holly, who resolutely grabbed forks and handed them off to him to pack. She wasn't about to struggle with chopsticks in the park. Putting off dinner for a couple hours wasn't terrible, but she was glad they would be eating soon. "Thank God, I'm starving. I could kiss you for that."

Steve paused, his hand hanging midair. His blue eyes went wide, causing her to realize exactly what she'd just said. Now she was blushing, forcing herself to move away. Bustling to the fridge, she ducked behind the door and rolled her eyes at herself.

"…You kiss everybody who brings you food?" he asked quietly, sounding as if he couldn't quite believe what she'd just exclaimed. That, and he sounded not a little amused.

Damn slip of the tongue! "Oh…It was just…"

Risking a glance over the fridge door, she saw his expression become quizzical, gaze glittering. "Is that how you paid the delivery guy the last time we got pizza?"

"Oh, shut up, nerfherder," she muttered out the side of her mouth, hearing his low chuckle as she closed the door. Reaching out, she smacked him lightly on the arm, unable to fully suppress the humorous embarrassment in her face.

Shaking his head, he mouthed 'princess' to himself before changing the subject. "So it starts at 8:30, yeah?"

"Yeah," she exhaled gratefully. "It's a couple blocks to the park from here. We could probably get a pretty decent spot if we head over now."

Nodding, Steve picked up the cooler, agreeing to leave his bike in visitor parking for the time being. Holly in turn carried the blanket and a sweatshirt, locking up the apartment as they went. As the pair slowly descended the stairs to the ground floor, her free hand found its way into the crook of his elbow, staying there as they made their way down the sidewalk. The heat of the day had worn off a little, enough so that they weren't instantly sweating walking out the door. The trek was done in a comfortable silence, the sounds of others traversing to the park filtering in and out of earshot. Upon arrival, they found some families and other couples had already set up their spots in front of a large white screen at the far end of the soccer fields.

Finding a spot about midway, at a little distance to the other people, they laid down the blanket and got down to business, eager to get their dinner finished before the movie started. Opening a container eagerly, Holly dug right into the chicken fried rice. The stomach nerves that had plagued her during the day were gone, thankfully.

"You know," Steve commented softly, poking at his beef and broccoli, "I haven't been on a date in a long time. A real one, at least."

Holly blinked, her mouthful of rice keeping her from giving any sort of clumsy reply. As far as she knew, he'd been busy doing work for SHIELD or the Avengers over the past few years. That was his excuse, she understood that, but it was still a little stunning for him to tell her that. Her eyebrows quirked up in question, wondering where he was going with this.

"So, just in case I say or do something wrong, that's...that's why," he sighed, meeting her gaze squarely for a moment. "It's a little different from the last one I was on."

Swallowing, she watched as his face went back into profile as he ate, seeing the tightness of his jaw and the nervous flick of his eyes around the crowd.

_'He's nervous, too,'_ she chastised herself. Unable to stop herself, she reached out, taking his left hand in her right. Her thumb ran along his, easing the taken aback look on his face and glad it was replaced with his familiar half-smile. Out loud, she queried, "How different is this one?"

Lifting a shoulder, he chewed another bite of beef before answering. "For one, I doubt we'll be seeing an expo on flying cars and the magical wonder of the newfangled television. And for another, I don't think I'll be sneaking off to a recruitment station in the middle of it."

Holly chuckled, balancing her container on top of her legs before digging into it awkwardly with her left hand. "Oh, yeah?"

"The company's better. I'll stick around for that."

Warmth flushed into her face, and she couldn't help but feel pleased at the pronouncement. "I can agree with that."

They lapsed into silence, eating and watching as the fellows who coordinated the movie night began to make final set-up touches to the sound system and projector. More people began arriving, causing Steve to scoot a little closer to her and pull his cap's bill a little lower over his eyes. Following his lead, she combed her loose hair to obscure her face from the sides. When it was darker, and slightly cooler, she'd put on the sweatshirt and hood. Despite disinterested glances thrown their way every now and again, they weren't paid any mind or accosted by the other movie-goers.

"On the positive side, we already know each other, so the awkward small talk that usually happens at this point can be shelved," Holly pointed out suddenly, setting her empty container off to one side.

Tipping his chin up, Steve considered it briefly. "Good to know. So what should we talk about in place of that?"

"Dunno. Political views?" Holly said, a cheeky grin on her lips.

Steve snorted before tossing out his own suggestion. "World issues."

"Economic problems."

"The weather?"

Thinking for a minute, Holly raised a finger to her chin and pretended to ponder aloud. "Tony Stark's goatee. You've seen it up close, tell me: what's the deal with that?"

Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I couldn't begin to explain that choice. Especially the variations he's had of it over the last few years."

"Hmm. Have you ever considered growing one? Not a goatee, but a beard or something?"

Her imagination took over for a few seconds, painting him with scruff, maybe a darker blonde than his hair. The mental image wasn't as outlandish as it could have been, and she was beginning to rather like the idea.

"Before the serum, I couldn't even grow a mustache," he murmured, taking the sodas out of the cooler and handing one off to her. "After, well, regulations were a hassle to deal with, and now I kinda prefer not to have it. Maintenance aside, it works for me."

"I see," she replied, letting the little dream fade away. Another thread of curiosity took hold, and she went with it. "Think you'll be seeing the famed goatee, and the man beneath, again anytime soon?"

"There's been some talk about a meet-up, with everyone. Thor's busy working on locating a...an artifact; he might need some help with that."

"Do you think that will be happening soon?" Holly inquired, inwardly speculating at the likelihood of an Avenger mission for her companion.

"Considering he's been looking for around two years now, I'm not sure what the time frame for any of that looks like. Tony did mention having me up for a weekend to take a look at the new equipment he's developing, in any case," he said nonchalantly, gesturing tightly to the air.

She let out a low whistle. "That sounds pretty cool."

"It'll be interesting, to say the very least. I've been looking into getting a new uniform, and Tony is one step ahead of me there. Though I imagine it will exact some sort of price before I get to use it."

"Seriously? You'll have to pay him?" Her brow wrinkled at the thought; she thought that Tony Stark could afford to equip his teammates and friends without needing to be greedy about it. Steve quickly set the record straight on that score.

"In information, most likely. I think he suspected something big was going on when I borrowed his jet, and I know he wants details," he muttered, his face taking on a gloomy expression. The search for Bucky was still a sore point, even more so now that he and Sam were taking the 'wait and see' route. Although she could sympathize with his feelings on the matter, she knew piling on would be of no help. Physically shaking himself, he pulled himself out of that mire and turned his attention back to her. "So, your turn to talk. You have any friends whose facial hair is up for discussion?"

She laughed, "No, but there are a few good things that'll be happening at work."

"Well, then, shoot."

Working through some of her boss's old connections, she and the rest of her work team were preparing for a visiting author month. For the entirety of August, they would be bringing in local authors once a week to speak about their books, giving people the chance to meet-and-greet with them in exchange for bringing up sales in the store. One was even a comic book writer, who had worked with the original artists for some of the Batman and Superman comics. That one was tailored more to the kids, but she anticipated more than a fair share of adults would be in the crowd as well. In truth, that was the one she personally pursued, remembering how Steve once told her he had been on track to work under those very same people after he'd finished his schooling before the war started, and how much they'd influenced him. They were an important form of literature as well, and she thought it would be a good idea to promote it. Upon hearing the comic author's name, Steve looked excited, having read comics by him back in the day. Inviting him to stop by the bookstore on the comic writer's day, she broke off as the announcement for the start of the movie went around.

"_Singin' in The Rain_..." Steve trailed off. There wasn't much he knew about the film, given that he hadn't wanted to spoil it for himself. Most likely had musical numbers, if the title were anything to go by. He didn't mind that so much; a lot of the movies he saw in the past were musicals, or at least had heavy musical undertones. Looking down at his companion, he asked, "Have you seen this before?"

Holly shook her head. "Nope, not in its entirety. Just the one Gene Kelly scene."

"Gene Kelly's in the picture?" Steve seemed to be more eager to watch it upon hearing the familiar name. A flash of memory ripped through his mind, in which he recalled one of the films he managed to catch during his own USO tour. The one that also had Judy Garland, in which his character did his part for the war effort by performing. He remembered empathizing so much with his character at the time. He settled in, ready for the movie to start.

Even with the other couples around them chattering around them, it wasn't hard to enjoy the movie. Subtitles were on, just in case, so everyone could follow along (though Steve's heightened hearing negated the purpose). The character of Cosmo Brown really grabbed his attention, his exaggerated facial expressions and physical fluidity cracking him up more often than not. Gene Kelly, as iconic leading man Don Lockwood, of course was a force to be reckoned with. His dancing skill was something Steve actually envied, and he was displaying it fully at every opportunity he could. And Debbie Reynolds' Kathy, well, she was a doll. There was music, naturally, and he recognized several of the songs.

As Kathy and Don apologized to one another, sowing the seeds for their onscreen romance to bloom, Steve was doubly aware of the presence of the young woman sitting next to him, who had released his hand several moments before. The little connection was lost, and he wanted it back. The nerves had returned as he considered what to do about the situation.

He hadn't lied when he told Holly that this was his first date in years. Trouble was, even when he was on dates (mostly doubles, always Bucky's handiwork) he wasn't quite sure how to handle himself. Steve Rogers was the skinny, short guy from Brooklyn, a guy that dames would more likely step on than step out with. It was nearly impossible to make gestures to the ones he was actually keen on, because in general they preferred gestures from taller, bigger men. Deep down, he still saw himself as that little guy; no serum could erase that truth.

But the little guy, it turned out, was capable of going beyond what he expected of himself, and even what others expected of him. And that same little guy, the Steve that had carried him through worse trials than this, was the one motivating him now.

With that, he scooted nearer to Holly, curling his arm around her waist and pulling her against his side. A few seconds later, he was glad he'd done it; she settled against him, resting her hand on his knee and flashing him a bright grin.

The film progressed, with the characters deciding to turn a disastrous talkie into a musical. When the iconic song and dance in the rain began, he could feel Holly begin to bop along to the beat. His own foot began to tap along to the music, sharing in her happiness. Out the corner of his eye, he saw her mouthing along with Gene Kelly for a few moments, before her gaze turned skyward. When she stared on for several moments, Steve raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.

"What are you doing?"

Nodding at the darkened sky, she murmured, "Just wondering if the universe is going to throw a curve and actually have it start raining."

He snickered, before looking heavenward for a second or two. A few stars were filtering in and out from behind some clouds, but otherwise it remained calm.

Dropping his head, he dipped his chin at her. "Disappointed?"

Dragging her gaze back to the ground, she locked eyes with him, the affection in them plain. "Not remotely."

The beat of his heart thumped loudly in his ear, his breathing became shallow. Swallowing hard, he tried to force himself to remain calm as he reached up and tucked a wayward strand of her dark hair behind her ear. His thumb brushed along the curve of her jaw, and when her lips parted to take a breath, he felt a thrill shoot through his body.

_'Maybe,' _he thought, lowering his head towards hers, _'maybe—'_

A couple of teenagers went running by, knocking the cooler askew and jerking them both back into the present moment. The kids barely paused long enough to apologize before they disappeared into the dark, with Holly brushing the interruption off with a shaky hand. Letting her go to clean up the strewn containers and cans, Steve gritted his teeth hard, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead and pushing up the bill of his ball cap in frustration. The moment was gone, and a recovery for it was beyond his capabilities for the time being.

_'Or maybe not.'_

Still, at least she resumed her place at his side after she'd finished and thrown the hoodie on, pointedly putting his arm around her waist herself and snuggling close again. That was something.

The rest of the movie went by fairly swiftly after that, blurring a little in his mind (though the woman in the green dress who danced with Gene Kelly stuck out, go figure). As the ending resolved and Kathy and Don got their final kiss, a spike of irritation went through him; however, he let that pass. Soon enough, the hosts for the evening were bidding everyone good night, and it was time to leave.

Asking for help, Holly waited until he complied and gathered up one end of the blanket while she tended to the other. "So, what did you think?"

Meeting her in the middle, he let his fingers slide over hers before letting her finish the fold. "Not bad. Not bad at all."

Back to the apartment complex they went, their date drawing to a close. Discussing their favorite parts of the movie (Holly loved the Broadway Ballet, Steve really liked _Make 'Em Laugh_) they walked back hand in hand, not quite acknowledging the end coming on them. Insisting on walking her to her door, Steve had time to reflect as Holly led the way. He stopped on the threshold, handing off the cooler and letting her get everything inside.

So much was roiling around his head, he didn't know where to begin. That the night had been a good time, that he really enjoyed being with her. The knowledge that not every time they would be together would be like this, that choosing to go out with him was never going to be easy for her. Maybe it was a mistake, a great big mistake...all week he'd been brooding over the issue, wondering if he shouldn't just give her an out right then and there.

But...the way she looked at him, the way she made him feel...he hadn't felt that way since...

He couldn't say the words.

"I suppose this is where we say good night," Holly's voice cut through the tangled mess of thoughts. Steve nodded, taking the cap off his head and twisting it in his hands.

"Yeah, I guess," he responded. Unsure of what to do, and unable to find the gumption that he'd had before, Steve gathered her into his arms, holding her close. "I'll...I'll call you soon."

That was a promise he intended to keep, for better or for worse.

"Good night, Steve," she whispered, not letting go in the slightest. Reluctantly, after a few minutes had passed, he made himself pull away, tucking his cap into his back pocket and giving her a halfhearted grin.

"'Night." Pivoting on his heel, he started to walk back down the hall, waiting to hear the click of her door latching into place. Instead, the pounding of footsteps behind him caught him off-guard.

"Wait!" Holly commanded, keeping her voice low in deference to her neighbors. Stopping in his tracks, Steve turned to face her once more.

"Yeah?" he asked, slight amusement in his tone as she trotted up to his side. Her brown eyes wavered, taking in the full sight of him. Briefly, he had an absurd feeling of being under inspection. His eyebrows quirked together, a query blooming in his mind. Before he could utter another word, she closed the gap between them, her hands reaching up to cradle his head. Understanding what she was doing, he met her halfway, leaning down to claim the kiss they'd been denied earlier.

_'Definitely not bad.'_

* * *

**A/N:** …:-D

Enjoy the fluff, for it is bountiful. Next chapter, we will be getting out of July, and onto other events.

I don't own Batman or Superman. They're owned by DC. I also don't own _Singin' in the Rain _or any of its plot points/scenes_. _That belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer. (cue roaring lion)

Thanks all for reading and for being so patient in between updates, please give this a review, and I will see you all for the next one!

**Edit: Thanks to a guest reviewer, who pointed out a mistake I made it regards to a shirt term I used erroneously. I have since fixed it. Sorry if I unintentionally offended anyone else with the previous term.**


	22. Chapter 22

The kiss Steve and Holly shared that night would not be the last of them. Much like the events that had brought them into each others' lives, it had been a prelude to more, to something deeper than either of them contemplated getting involved with. It was no helter-skelter dash; when one of the partners involved was a man literally out of his time and out of his element, there was no question of pushing headlong into something too fast. And Holly was able to reconcile herself to that, because deep down, she didn't want to rush things with Steve beyond what he was comfortable giving her.

She liked him too much to force him to abandon his ideals in regards to relationships. He may not have had the most experience, but he was still a grown man who knew his own mind and heart. And while she didn't quite believe that people were all that innocent in the 1930's and 1940's, she knew that there was a stronger sense of prudence. Not to say that Steve was a prude, but again, his hard moral code hadn't relaxed all that much in the last two, almost three, years since he'd come out of the ice. Make haste slowly, she'd remembered reading once, long ago, in a class-assigned book. It was the one quality that she took from it, and it could be perfectly applied to their situation. And to tell the truth, it didn't bother her all that much.

If it went too fast, it would burn out too quickly. She'd seen it happen to many people in her life, and she didn't want that to happen.

However, that wasn't to say that, in those summer weeks, things didn't heat up a few times at their own rate. Because, moral code or not, Steve Rogers had already endured years of self-denial, by circumstance and by choice. It was safe to say he was in no mood to go through that again. Though he technically had ninety-six years under his belt, for all intents and purposes he was still a young man. A young man, who wanted a young woman, this young woman he cared for. So actually, a few of those times were at Steve's insistence, and she would reflect on them with a wicked grin.

He wasn't adept, that much was obvious to her from the beginning. But he was honest, and willing to try. And, he was willing to learn, as she, to her surprise and amusement, had seniority and experience on her side in that regard. His approach was naturally gentle; some part of him must have feared that he'd break her or offend her by coming on too strongly (he'd lived on both sides of the fence, and didn't want to make things worse if he possibly could). A little shy, a little hesitant, his light touch made her feel as if she would melt. And when he did find the gumption to press a little further, she could feel something like fire burning in her body.

"Sorry," he had breathed, pulling back as she squeaked out loud. In the midst of their kissing one evening, abut two and a half weeks after the first date, he'd followed an example she'd set before and took her lip between his teeth. Which, initially, was pleasant, until he bit down a little too hard. Her bottom lip looked sore, and her hand immediately came up to cover it. Rubbing his neck in embarrassment, he grinned ruefully. "I didn't mean to..."

"I know," she said, words muffled slightly. There was no effrontery there, and her eyes were wide and hazy. "A little overeager, are we?"

Shrugging a shoulder, some pink appeared along his cheekbones as he shot her swift look.

"Other than that, it wasn't bad."

Raising an eyebrow, he asked quietly, almost to himself, "More practice, then?"

Giving her lip one last rub, she winked at him saucily. "I'm open to that."

Hand sliding into her hair, he pulled her in again, barely brushing her lips as a familiar voice cut through the air.

"Let me know if you two need the plastic cover for the couch."

Two sets of eyes, astonished brown and shocked blue, locked onto Sam as he stood in the archway to the living room. Previously, he had been safely ensconced upstairs, unaware of their arrival back to the house, or so they'd thought. He had an apple in hand, fresh from the kitchen, and with a look of sharp amusement, he took a bite out of it. Pointedly, he turned on his heel, barely smothering his laughter as he went back upstairs. The click of his bedroom door locking into place was akin to a gunshot echoing down the stairwell. Silence passed, in which the leftover pair caught their breath and tried to rein in their separate thoughts.

"Well," Holly murmured in time, nodding her head to her own sentiment, "that was awkward."

It started out small, just a couple of chuckles. But then, it bubbled up and out, with Steve not able to control it. Soon enough, he was laughing outright, head tilted back and eyes shut.

"What's so funny?" Holly asked, bemused but wearing a reluctant grin. Swiping a hand over his face, Steve struggled to get himself under control.

"It's just that...I never thought that, in a million years, I'd get caught necking like a teenager, ever," he finally got out, shaking his head and leaning back into the couch cushions. Seeing her raised eyebrows, he snickered, "Honestly. Never thought that."

The corner of her mouth raised, her heart twisting a little at the thought. It was sad, not allowing yourself to expect experiencing things that other people took for granted, but pity would probably be the last thing he wanted to see in her eyes at the moment. And it wasn't pity she felt, just frustration for lowered expectations. She covered it up as smoothly as she could. "Well, you were proven wrong. It only took seventy years, not a million."

Smirking, he sat up again, his fingers sliding along her throat and his mouth hovering above hers. "Smart-aleck."

Her eyelids flicked shut. "You know it."

After that incident, they were a little more careful around the house. On the positive side, Sam didn't seem opposed to the shift in their relationship. Indeed, it hardly even fazed him when Steve explained his intentions to him. There was nothing he had against Holly, and frankly, it would be better for him to be involved with someone than to have a brooding, aloof Captain America in his house. As he owned the house the couple would be spending some of their time in, he requested that the surfaces remain as clean as when they arrived. Steve nearly went purple at the suggestion, and Holly had to clench her jaw to stop the inappropriate giggles from coming out while turning an interesting shade of crimson.

The best moments, to Holly's mind, were the quiet ones. Sitting close, holding hands, where being in company was enough for the time being. Naturally, as their feelings grew, they began to spend more and more of their time together. When they could; Holly had her job and her book, Steve had increasingly frequent video call meetings to Stark Tower and was keeping a tab on missing persons' reports (just in case), and both had friends to contend with. However, they made time, away from the public eye, which was focusing on the intrepid captain and his increasing appearances around town with his lady friend, and from even the private ones.

One Friday in early August found the pair on Holly's couch, choosing to stay in and relax for the night. The television was on, the evening news playing at low volume for the sake of having background noise. Ostensibly, Steve was watching the stories as they played out, but his eyes were fastened on the sketchbook balancing on the arm of the sofa. His pencil moved across a fresh page, scratching the paper. Relaxed, he stretched his legs out onto the emptied coffee table, his left arm slung along the sofa back. With her head pillowed by his thigh, Holly was lying on her back, her knees propped up and a notebook pressed firmly against her legs to use as an upright table. The pen she had in hand looped through the letters, occasionally pausing as she turned over a thought or became distracted by the anchors on the screen. Glancing down at her, watching her chew the end of the pen in contemplation, Steve released a soft sigh.

The weeks of inaction that followed the failed recovery attempt in Germany had not grated as much as they could have. Living as a civilian, something he hadn't done since he was in art school and struggling to get by, was a novelty. Being at peace, which had been his ultimate goal as a soldier, was something he could cherish, and it was something he could acclimate to. It didn't make the old fears and nightmares disappear; in fact, it made him nervous that every moment of peace he'd had would vanish, leaving him back amongst the trenches and bombs, with HYDRA on his back and the Red Skull haunting him forever. And it was irritating to know that Bucky was still out there, somewhere, beyond his reach because he refused to come back. But still, the calm was something that he appreciated, and he appreciated who he'd spent the time with.

It wouldn't last indefinitely; with Thor's increasing presence on Earth, the Avengers would be called again from the quiet.

"You're leaving in the morning, right?" Holly piped up, lazily drawing a curlicue in the margins of her notebook.

Blowing away some eraser shavings, Steve replied, "Yeah. Heading out early, staying the night, and then coming home Sunday."

It was time, he'd reasoned. Tony was back in New York again, after a brief hiatus, and he implored him to give the new equipment and armor he'd been developing a try. Test runs needed to be done, and quickly, so that adjustments could be made if needed.

"Okay. The turnpike's gonna be a bitch."

He snorted, a frown creasing his brow. "Don't I know it."

"Well, have fun with that." Something in Holly's tone sounded off, taking his attention away from the sketchbook to her. She didn't meet his gaze, but rather kept her eyes locked on her own work. Her eyebrows twitched together, in concentration, he'd thought, but he sensed there was more to it than that.

"...I will be back Sunday," he repeated cautiously.

"I know." Striking through a word, her penstroke was harsher than before. Breathing slowly out her nose, her head rolled back enough to flick a fast look of discomfort at him. His frown deepened, thinking he understood.

"It's not a mission."

"I know," she muttered, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead and closing her eyes. Her voice dropped to a whisper, as though she thought he could not hear her, "Not this time."

Steve stared at her incredulously, drawing and television forgotten. "You can't be mad about that."

"I'm not," Holly protested sharply, setting the notebook aside. "Really. I'm just thinking about how different a mission will be in comparison. About the danger."

"Holl." It was half endearment, half reprimand, as her shortened name fell from his lips. He didn't know what else he could say, what he could tell her that they hadn't discussed several times before, back when neither had been anything more than common acquaintances. Groaning, she rose, sitting upright with her elbows against her knees and rubbing her hands together anxiously. His left arm came down from the back of the couch, crossing it with the right over his chest as he waited for her to explain.

"I promise, I'm not mad or anything like that," she reaffirmed, carefully choosing her words. "When it comes down to it, well...I won't say it doesn't bother me, but I get it. I know why."

And she did understand. However, understanding duty and honoring it did not eliminate the fear she had, something she'd felt when it was a small kernel in her stomach during his beginning investigations for Bucky, and something she knew would grow stronger with time.

"I just, I worry," Holly finished, hunching her shoulders defensively. "Preemptively, but still. I doubt that'll change anytime soon."

Steve said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Verbal reassurance would be no consolation, and making promises he couldn't be guaranteed to keep sat ill in his stomach. It would be different, inevitably, compared to the last time he went on missions. There was more to lose, now.

That didn't have to dictate their actions, though.

Instead, he reached out, taking her hand and running his thumb gently across her skin. Both of them took comfort in the gesture.

"If I didn't worry, you'd think there's something wrong with me," she expressed sardonically.

Steve felt his eyes crease at the corners, holding back a smirk. "Yes, that would be my first clue."

The newscast had changed over to _Wheel of Fortune_, the cheering audience pulling their collective attention back to the television for a few minutes.

"You could come with." Having issued the invitation earlier in the week, he knew it was unlikely that she would change her mind at such a late hour. Holly shook her head, a sly gleam in her eye.

"Thanks, but I think you and Tony need some quality alone time together. Rekindle your flame, as it were."

Steve rolled his eyes, turning back to his sketchbook. "Ugh."

"You secretly love him, I know it," she said, a mock-serious expression on her features. "Dating me has just been a smokescreen, don't deny it!"

She begun poking him in the ribs, finding his ticklish spots easily no matter how much he shied away. Shortly, he retaliated, making her squirm and giggle as he refused to admit his secret designs upon the Stark heir. They were a jumble of arms and legs, finally settling when Steve had pinned her against him, her hands held between their chests as he held her tightly.

Splaying her fingers across his chest, she sighed under her breath. "I actually made plans for Saturday. Can't go back on them now."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, loosening his grip on her so she could settle more comfortably against his side. His arm looped around her, hand resting on her hip.

Looking away, she latched onto watching the show, tutting when the young lady onscreen had landed on 'bankrupt.' "Girl stuff. Which I'll spare you the details of."

"How considerate of you." Waiting a few moments, he commented, "Have fun with all that."

Holly snorted, chewing on her lip briefly. "I'll try."

**xXxXxXx**

After a grueling five hours on the road the following day, Steve pulled gratefully into the underground parking at Stark Tower around noon, stomach growling and head aching. The lighting sprang to life as he pulled into an empty space, one with an obnoxious shield insignia painted on the concrete to signify what Tony had designated as his.

"The turnpike _was_ a nightmare," he muttered to himself, swinging a leg to get off his bike and stretching to relieve the tension in his back. Removing his pack from the motorcycle, he gathered his shield from the side harness as well and moved off to the elevator, his legs getting back into the groove of walking.

"Welcome, Captain Rogers," chimed the soothing voice that belonged to JARVIS. "Your quarters have been opened for use, and Mr. Stark is in Research and Development, should you need him."

"Thanks, JARVIS," Steve replied, still not entirely used to speaking to a program he couldn't see. Fiddling with the strap on the pack, he wondered, "How is Tony?"

Stark, for the last year or so, had been on his periphery, surviving not only an attack on his home but an attack on the people (namely, person) he loved. It, as well as the events of the battle, had shaken him. It had, for a time, disrupted him to his very core. After his surgery, he seemed to be on the uptick, fully devoting himself to his projects and to the reassembling of the Avengers, with Pepper fronting for the company. Sure, he maintained his cocky, arrogant swagger and speech, but there was a darkness in him, something he could see in his eyes during the video calls.

"He's well as can be, sir. I will warn you that he has a few questions regarding your actions over the last few months, and he fully intends to interrogate you when you go to meet with him."

"Not surprised," Steve murmured, the elevator depositing him on his floor.

"Would you expect anything less, Captain?"

He sighed deeply, but refrained from answering. Punching in the four-digit code he'd been provided with three days previously, as well as having his hand scanned at the front door, he entered his rooms without any further impediment. In Stark terms, the place was cozy; the entirety of the place could have fit at least four models of his old apartment in Brooklyn. And possibly three-and-a-half of his previous digs in DC. It was tastefully decorated (Pepper had a hand in that, no doubt), with framed prints of the city on the walls that weren't sheer glass, and the sparse furniture was comfortable, too. There was always a place for him at the Tower, something that Tony had reiterated after the helicarrier disaster. It was just so...big. And empty.

It wasn't home, certainly, but it would do. For one night, at least.

Finding the bedroom positioned in the rear of the space, he tossed his pack on the bed and affixed his shield to the back harness he'd brought with before heading upstairs to find the elusive Mr. Stark. As he reentered the elevator, he quickly sent off a short text message, sheltering the screen with his hands somewhat. JARVIS wasn't exactly a spy, but he couldn't shake the feeling of someone looking over his shoulder.

_**Made it out okay. Have a good day, Holl. Enjoy your girly things.**_

It didn't take long for an answer back, setting them both on track for the day.

_**Glad you made it safe. Have fun out there. Don't blow anything up! :-D See you when you come home.**_

As Stark had once stated, the top ten floors of the Tower were dedicated to research and development. The original intentions for the R&amp;D department were to track the clean energy usage and make improvements therein, as well as to develop other projects for Stark Industries. However, as the owner of the building, and of the company, Tony was free to utilize the machines, the data, even the clean energy as he saw fit. Of the ten floors, he was stationed on the third, with JARVIS setting Steve on the right course.

Benches were set up in a vast open space, scattered with portable toolboxes stationed haphazardly around them. Digital displays hovered midair, and a robot, parts refurbished but with chipped lettering painted on its side, rolling lazily towards a tabletop covered in actual physical blueprints.

"Hey, DUM-E! Touch those and perish in the hellfires of my acetylene torch," screamed someone in the northeast corner of the room, a welding mask obscuring the identity of the fellow. He appeared to be working on an engine block of sorts, as far as Steve could tell. A spray of sparks and the gush of an activated torch underscored his point. "You're on clean-up duty, anyway. Remember, taking care of the mess U made?"

Steve, ready to greet the other person, was forced to step back as something blurred by him. Another robot rolled out, a hovering claw snapping in a kind of annoyance. A broomstick was thrust through its crossbeams, and it appeared to adopt an aggrieved air as it began to bang relentlessly into the far wall. At once the sparks stopped flying and the torch was turned off. Taking off the mask and his protective apron, Tony Stark dropped them in the open chair he was neglecting, his face devoid of emotion save for disgust.

"...Oh. Well, that explains it, then."

Shaking his head, his dark gaze fell upon the new arrival, the corners of his eyes creasing in good humor as he nodded hello.

"Hey, Capsicle. About time you showed up." The nickname didn't burrow under his skin like it once did; rather Steve took it in stride, walking up to his colleague and shaking his hand warmly. Time and (to be blunt) distance had given both Iron Man and Captain America the opportunity to adjust to one another, given them a chance to better understand each other. Yes, Steve didn't comprehend about seventy-five percent of what Stark went on about, and yes, Tony was convinced that Rogers had a permanent steel rod implanted in his backside, but they had made their peace. Where once they had met as hostile strangers, they were able to greet each other as friends.

"Stark, good to see you again."

"Of course it is," he agreed amiably, "I'm providing you with a great bounty. Filling an empty hole in your life."

"Because you're the first person I'd call to do that."

"Well, maybe not the first," Tony conceded, his face giving away nothing as he tapped at a digital browser that had been hovering at his shoulder. The display warped and changed around them, revealing schematics of an upgraded suit and a list of possible modifications lining it. "But I think I can settle for a close second."

He continued plugging away at the read-out, shooting a significant glance at the captain. Steve grimaced, leaning in to inspect the layout of the uniform. He wasn't going to rise to the bait. Stark would not be deterred, however.

"So, the girl. How'd she figure in? You save her cat from a tree or something?"

Rogers glared at him, scoffing out loud. The fact that Stark still considered him something of a Boy Scout was irksome. "Not even close."

"Meet online? Was it a speed date thing? She a crazy stalker you just can't say no to?"

"Stark..." Steve tried to keep his temper even, forcing himself to chuckle. "Can we get back to the task at hand?"

"Right, right. Suits, Avengers, sure thing, boss man," Tony said, with faux humility. A few seconds of quiet, and then: "Mail order girlfriend?"

If looks could kill, Tony would've been dead where he was standing, and DUM-E would have been required to clean his remains. Feebly, Stark raised his hands in the universal gesture for surrender. Mumbling under his breath, he heard him promise to get the information one way or another, with or without Steve's illumination, but he ignored it. Now was the time to get down to business; Stark's nosiness had to wait.

Overall, he liked the look of the new suit's design. Unlike the one provided by SHIELD, it had the full red, white, and blue motif, making it true to the original in that respect. However, the kevlar weave, the fitting, and the magnetized gloves were brand new. It looked sound, but he knew he would need to give it a try before passing judgment.

"How much of it is ready, may I ask?"

Tony smiled, genuinely smiled, enlarging the schematic to read it more thoroughly. In that moment, he looked so much like Howard that Steve reeled. "All of it, Cap. Ready when you are."

"Well, then, I'd better give it a go."

The smile slid into a smirk, Howard slipping into the mists of time and bringing back Tony. "Put on the suit."

Steve blinked, his jaw going slack for a second before his mouth turned up at the corners. "You've just been waiting to use that, haven't you?"

"For so long, Cap, for so long."

* * *

**A/N:** I have been waiting. SO LONG. To put Tony in here. So. Long. Seriously.

And the fluff goes on...much like the beat. I hope you enjoy it. :)

I don't own _Wheel of Fortune. _I was around when they were filming in Hawaii once. Couldn't get on set, but hey, we were close to the studio they were stationed in.

Yes, I used Capsicle. I am not ashamed to do so.

Thanks all for reading, PLEASE REVIEW, and I will see you all for the next one!


	23. Chapter 23

It was true that Holly had made plans to do "girly things" for the Saturday that Steve was in New York, but it wasn't all pink and fluffy unicorns. The girliest thing about it initally was that Sarah was involved, and she wanted to make a stop to pick up a couple of rom-coms she'd heard about. They did go to the mall for a spell, though Holly herself bought nothing. The main purpose was for them to catch up, as time had gotten away from them both.

Talk of family intermingled with work woes; Holly's sister Heather was proud of youngest son, who was beginning to take his first steps, and Sarah's father had been in the hospital twice in four months for the same occurrence (broken arm, same one both times; falling off the roof twice would do that to a man). And as Sarah had been on break from teaching the little girls, she'd opened up her part of the studio for adult lessons, not so subtly hinting that perhaps Holly could stop by with "certain people."

Though sworn to not chatter about it to everyone else, Sarah wanted some details of the time Holly had spent with her superhero counterpart. However, her friend had demanded it be a quid pro quo situation; talking about Steve was something she was a little leery about, but what she could tell, she exacted a price. Sarah had spent a lot of time in the Apple store, flirting with the Genius working his shift, and she wanted to know what the story was there. Evidently he was the brother of one of her girls, and lately he had been the one to pick her up after her lesson with Sarah was finished. After chatting with him a few times, she'd taken a fancy to the big guy. Awkward as all get out, but a sweetheart nonetheless.

"Sounds a little familiar," Holly murmured aloud, earning a wry grin from her best friend. Sarah quirked up an eyebrow, nodding.

"And your guy? It's been about a month now for you two; how's that been going?"

Holly paused, considering her words carefully. "It's been...unreal. Good, but surreal."

There was no better way to describe it, to be honest. She didn't know how she could, anyway. It was still something she could barely believed had happened to her life. All her thoughts competed to reach her mouth, and as such, she couldn't explain any further. Thankfully, Sarah seemed to catch on.

"I would imagine so. Him being a superhero and all, has to be a little strange," she commented lightly.

"Yeah," Holly sighed, looking up at the tinted glass windows in the roof of the mall. "There's that."

"Are you happy?"

She whipped her gaze back down, a little stunned at the question. Sarah's green eyes reflected innocence, her brow furrowed in scrutiny. She truly wanted to know, and so Holly felt no reason to hold back. "Yeah, actually. I am."

Because for all the surreality, she knew what she felt in her heart, and Steve just made her feel it all the more just by being with him. Not elaborating further, the topic was eventually changed to where they wanted to grab food at, and if there was a preference to which apartment they adjourned to to watch the movies Sarah had purchased. Choosing Holly's place, they disembarked there as soon as their checks were paid, parking in the home lot and ascending the stair before the clock struck four.

Upon opening the door, though, Holly stopped dead in her tracks, staring into her living room in shock.

"I can say this for you: you don't lack in reading material," crowed the person perched in the armchair, lowering the book held suspended in front of her face. Glancing at the shelves surrounding the television and back at the interloper, she couldn't do much but nod and move further into room.

"Hello, Natasha."

The ex-agent gave her a tight grin, flicking her back to where Sarah stood peering around her shoulder. "Hey, there."

Stumbling in her manners, Holly gestured backwards. "This is my friend, Sarah. Sarah, this is—"

"The Black Widow. Holy crap," Sarah breathed, eyes going impossibly wide and tone infused with admiration. As the only female member of the Avengers, as well as a fearsome agent in her time at SHIELD, she'd garnered much respect from the civilian community. Sarah had, in the past, examined what little news footage could be found of the woman and expounded on her graceful form and movements. Not that the fellows on the team were anything to sneeze at, but this singular woman was attention-grabbing. If she were to hero-worship any of them, it would be the Black Widow.

As Sarah was standing in awe (and perhaps not a little bit of fear) of the older woman, Holly cut in, "So what brings you by? I would ask how you know where I live, or how you got in, but frankly, it doesn't seem worth it to ask."

Personally, she was a bit let down that she hadn't come sooner. Ever since her confession of keeping any eye on her affairs, Holly had half expected Natasha to turn up in her apartment at some point, just to prove that she could. It wasn't something she was comfortable with, but it was far too late to change anything about the situation or lament about it.

Natasha smirked. "You learn quick."

"Hence why I'm cutting to the chase."

The redheaded woman inclined her head, silently agreeing to do the same. "Any plans you have for the evening: cancel them."

Immediately Holly's lips turned down into a frown. She was making a demand on her time, right this second? And to do what? Sharing a pointed glance with Sarah, her friend just rolled her shoulders in ignorance, turning a hand up in question.

"Why?"

"You and I have business to attend to." Natasha put her hands on her hips, all authority and power projecting in her form.

Her suspicion spiked, and she narrowed her eyes. "What kind of business?"

"Oh, you'll see." She took a few steps forward, as if to usher her straight out the door. Preemptively, the brunette held up her hand, stopping the ex-agent in her tracks.

"Is it dangerous?"

A well-shaped eyebrow raised, and she could practically hear the mental response. _'Depends on your perspective.'_

"There shouldn't be any immediate danger to you."

Her voice was brooking no argument, though her face remained placid. It didn't put her at ease, thinking that she would be whisked away for some secret purpose, for God knew what. But, then again, Natasha wouldn't mettle in her life, or put her deliberately in harm's way, for no reason. And if she said it wouldn't be dangerous, then perhaps it wouldn't be. Natasha could be personable when she wanted to be, and only had orders and demands when she felt they were necessary.

If she kept stalling, would things end up invariably worse, just for her being stubborn? Perhaps, perhaps not. Still, despite the onset of nerves, she was wondering what business the Black Widow could have with her beyond the mundane.

"If that's the case, then she comes with," Holly added a caveat, hooking her thumb at Sarah. The petite blonde's jaw dropped, along with the purse she'd been holding. It was a test, to see if Natasha meant what she said. "No offense, but if I'm getting dragged into the unknown, I want someone I know to come with me."

A moment of silence passed in which the redhead sized up the two younger women, the look on her features impassive. The click and whir of her brain turning over the thoughts was nearly audible, weighing the pros and cons of having an additional person along for the ride. In time, she inclined her head again, motioning towards the front door once more.

"That's doable."

Fishing out wallets and keys, the duo followed the other woman outside, squeezing into a black sports car that had been parked discreetly down the block from the complex. The passengers did not speak; instead they bobbed their heads along to the tunes playing softly in the background (Lady Gaga, Holly noted dryly; the idea of Natasha Romanoff being a Lady Gaga fan made some sense, surprisingly). Weaving through the city, Holly and Sarah became more and more anxious as the scape melted into greenery and trees. After driving around fifteen minutes out of the city's limits, Natasha turned the car down a dirt road, the tunneling of the brush smoothing out to reveal an old dam. Tire tracks went to and from the dam, but otherwise it looked like it had been untouched for the last thirty years. Moss and mud covered it, turning it to a green-brown color.

"Sketchy," whispered Sarah from the backseat, her fingers digging tight into the leather coverings.

"Oh, God. This is the kind of place people are taken to be murdered," Holly sputtered, not able to help herself. When Natasha chuckled, it only went so far to relieve the tension in her chest.

"Nobody's getting murdered today. C'mon, in we go," she told them, climbing out of the car and treading fast towards a rusted metal door off to the left. Being left with the choice of either following the redhead into a deadly dam or waiting outside for an axe murderer to come, the cowed pair bolted after her, getting through the security checkpoint quickly.

Entering a lighted spillway, the echoes of their footsteps bounced off the concrete. Plastic sheeting covered one area of the dam, but Natasha did not pause. In fact, her walk became quicker, forcing them to jog to keep up. The tunnel split off in two directions, with Natasha choosing the left and bodily forcing the door at the end open after a hand scan.

"What is this place?" Holly had to ask, jumping over the raised lip of the door, eyes trailing the standing partitions and paper targets at the far end of the room. Locked racks of weapons, guns, flanked the wall. There weren't a lot, but most of the firearms were ones Holly had only ever seen in films. A shooting range, that was obvious, but there had to be more to the dam than that. Sarah, dazed, came into the room and shivered.

"An AK. Holly, there's an AK-47 in here." Her words were railroaded over by Natasha's explanation.

"This is a home away from home," she replied, selecting what appeared to be a sort of pistol from one of the racks and removing it. "The previous director of SHIELD, Nick Fury, purchased it as a sort of safehouse years ago. We are still free to come and go as we so choose. Those of us who know about it, anyway."

"Do you live here?"

Grinning, Natasha lifted a shoulder. "On and off. Going public with SHIELD meant having to go off the grid for the time being, so bye-bye apartment."

"Not necessarily," Holly countered, just for the sake of argument. Natasha stilled, turning slowly on her heel to face her.

"In my case, it is absolutely necessary. And in the future, it may be for you, too."

Ah, so that was why she was here; in case things ever got bad, if her home or her person had been compromised, she would have a place to run to. And Sarah would as well, as she would be equally at risk for bearing her friendship. It hit her hard, that truth, but she couldn't stop to think about it. Natasha kept talking, as she tried to catch her breath, about getting them clearance sometime.

"However, to get to the main point of your being here."

Beckoning her forward, Natasha waited as Holly came over to her, checking the gun in her hand over briefly. Once Holly got with arm's reach, she proffered it to her. The other woman stared at it dumbly. Rolling her eyes, she pressed it firmly into her grip.

"You're here for a dry run, to see if you're capable of handling a firearm at all."

It took some time for the idea to sink in, and Holly tried to object, but her tongue could not move. Instead, she listened intently as Natasha began to give her the basics on stance and the kind of gun she was holding limply, its snubbed barrel pointed directly at the floor. This went beyond her baseball bat and can of pepper spray attached to her key ring; this was worlds away from what she was used to.

The notion of upgrading her protection was not a new one. Truth be told, she and Steve had had a few discussions on the subject, but she'd never gone far enough to suggest firearms. As they were only a month into the relationship, she had thought that it was still at such a tenuous stage that increased measures did not have to be taken just yet. She had agreed to taking some lessons in self-defense, but for the moment, she'd thought she could still rely on a sort of anonymity. Evidently, others had felt she was wrong.

She took a moment to wonder if Steve had put Natasha up to it before shaking the thought away. If he did, then that was something they needed to talk about.

Sarah, who had hung back to examine the rifles, whistled low and reached out as if to touch them. In the mix of semiautomatics, she found a gem: a hunting rifle, barrel gleaming in the dank light. It was newer model, something she'd been angling after for awhile but was out of her price range.

"That's a sight prettier than my Ruger," she muttered, catching Romanoff's attention. Off her inquisitive expression, she asked, "Mind if I give this a try? I'm not much use with handguns, but I want to see how this baby will fire."

Mutely, Natasha nodded to the locked chest where the ammunition was housed, tossing her the keys to both rack and chest. "So your friend is a gun enthusiast?"

Spotting Natasha's speculative stare, Holly shrugged and grinned. Sarah Collins certainly didn't look like she could even heft a rifle, let alone fire one. She looked younger than her twenty-four years, and was a tiny woman to boot. But the tiny woman had been rifle hunting since she was old enough to take the course.

Pulling the rifle out of the wall rack and inspecting it, Sarah shook her head. "It's not so much that; I just happened to be one of those girls who actually liked going hunting with her daddy."

Holly snickered. "Still does. Makes a yearly trek back into Virginia for deer season."

"You don't complain when I bring back venison to share," her friend threw over her shoulder, heading over to grab some ammunition. Loading the gun, she pocketed a few more rounds and reached for a set of ear mufflers. Following suite, Holly and Natasha donned some for themselves, watching as Sarah sighted in for her first shot. Steadily, she breathed, stock pressed against her cheek and high up on her chest. The crack of the rifle when she finally squeezed the trigger made Holly jump a little, but Natasha hardly even flinched.

"Pretty good," she said, giving Sarah a thumbs up. The blonde brightened, considering the high praise coming from the ex-agent. Out the corner of her eye, she saw Holly slump in her stance. "Okay, your turn."

Despite her protestations about not being able to hit the broad side of a barn, Natasha gently guided her to stand across from a target. Sarah would pitch in her two cents every now and again as well. There was so much to remember: keep knees bent slightly, thumbs on one side, keep finger outside trigger guard. Squeeze, don't pull (which made her think about amending some of her text to put in the correct verbiage), keep sights in line...

As Sarah took her turns at her own target, and as Natasha took the time to demonstrate with her guns (Glocks, she'd stated), Holly managed to voice an important query.

"Why you?" she wondered, cracking a little on her dry throat. Swallowing, she continued, "Why this?"

Taking her shot, Natasha mulled over her answer for a moment. "Steve's too close to this, and Sam, well, he isn't quite the shot I am."

Shaking her head, Holly conceded the point, not really agreeing one way or another. She supposed that Romanoff would have the upper hand with precision shooting, at the very least. "So...answer to the second question."

Letting out a puff of air, her companion tossed her hair. "Self-defense with a baseball bat, while a step up, is not enough. You're involved with someone who walks a very thin, very dangerous line in his work. Daily. You need to learn how to defend yourself. And you need an ally who is willing to teach you how to do so, who isn't too attached to your person and who knows what, exactly, you need to be preparing for."

"An ally?" Not a friend, she was very specific about the word. It underscored their relationship: Holly and Natasha weren't close, by any means, but neither did they wish harm on one another. Deep down, Holly knew it was more than plausible that Natasha didn't trust her. Maybe she never would, since she wasn't trained to live and handle the life that Natasha had, and maybe she would always view her as a liability of sorts. But for the sake of her safety, she would give her a chance.

For Steve's sake, she would help her out.

"Yes."

Another shot went home from Sarah's rifle, breaking the quiet that had passed.

"...Okay, I can work with that."

"Good. Now, fix your stance; you'll pitch ass over tea kettle from one shot if you don't."

"Fine," Holly groaned, trying to adopt the athletic stance Natasha had showed her earlier.

Adjusting the stock as she sighted her shot, Sarah rolled her eyes. "I already told her that, she doesn't listen."

Holly scoffed, wincing despite having ear muffs as Sarah fired her shot. "Well, pardon me, Madam Huntress."

Natasha shook her head, allowing the corner of her mouth to lift the tiniest bit. Coming behind Holly, she adjusted her arms and commanded her to keep her legs shoulder width apart.

Eventually, events were called to a halt. The targets had been shredded and embedded, and Holly's abilities, few though they were, had the appearance of improving.

_'Good. Now I've stepped up from "useless" to "incompetent."'_ Her nerves were more jangled than ever.

"How are you feeling?" The gun was taken out of her hands, and she only glanced a moment at Natasha's polite mask of inquiry.

"Like I need a stiff drink."

Laughing, Romanoff walked towards the lockers, stashing everything away."Well, luckily for you, I know a good place not too far from here."

Gratefully, Holly leaned against a far wall, observing Sarah reluctantly hand over the rifle. "Great. Let's go cement our alliance, then."

**xXxXxXx**

Twenty minutes later found the trio in a wayside bar, the property slight worn down but still serviceable. To be honest, the place wasn't all bad; the jukebox was playing country, but the décor was better than some of the dive bars Holly had been to in the city. It was a bit lighter, and the people already there seemed decent enough. The women began the evening throwing back starting vodka shots before moving on to actual drinks. Now able to converse properly, Sarah and Natasha had a back and forth going on the kinds of weaponry they'd used in the past, with Holly hardly interjecting at all. At least they could bond, she mused darkly. Her hands felt cramped, and she wished she had brought the bat with. She was about ready to end her own misery with it.

Soon enough, though, Natasha wanted to talk options with her. Once as Sarah meandered over to the jukebox with a dollar in hand, she muttered, "You did okay for your first time."

"If you say so," Holly replied, shrugging against a cold blast from the air conditioning unit.

"I do say so." A pause, and then she went on, "This is what it means, to be involved with him. If you're looking for long-term, you have to be prepared to handle the worst along with the best. It's more dangerous than you know. This will never go away; you're kidding yourself if you think otherwise."

She leaned forward then, locking her intense gaze on the younger woman. The brunette shrank back, but still managed to meet her eye as bravely as she dared.

"Just remember that."

Something snapped inside Holly, causing her to lose her last shreds of fear. Indeed, she found her backbone and clenched her jaw, grinding out her response, "I won't forget. Trust me."

"At least you have someone who can cover your back, if he can't," she returned carefully, indicating Sarah in the far corner, her cheerful face creasing when she spotted the serious looks being thrown her way. The matter was dropped as Holly dipped her head, the new song permeating the air as Sarah returned to their cluster of stools.

"You'd do okay with a handgun, if it comes down to it, but perhaps you should start off lighter," Natasha picked up after a few seconds of sipping quietly.

Holly's eyebrows raised minutely. "Like a stun gun, or a taser?"

"You'd have to figure out a way to bypass the civilian restrictions, but that would probably be a good option," Natasha concurred, sliding a bill over the counter. The bartender took it without comment, moving off to assist another patron.

Holly snorted at that. "I live in the heart of bureaucracy; how fast do you think I'd honestly get a permit, even if it were legal in DC?"

Romanoff shot her an appraising look, letting the words settle. "You've looked into it."

"Of course I have." Taking a long drink of the lager she'd chosen, Holly continued, "Just because I didn't jump straight to the gun option doesn't mean I haven't given the matter any serious thought. I'd like to go the less lethal route, if it's available."

It was right that Natasha didn't trust her, her brain whispered mutinously, because she couldn't even trust herself. Odds were she'd end up killing herself with a gun, or at least that was what she considered to be her lot. And, when it came down to it, she didn't know if she could pull the trigger. Even if it meant her life or her enemy's.

She could handle a bat, and most likely could tolerate a stun gun, but anything more...even with the day's practice, she didn't know.

'_You had to have feelings for a man who is on a hit-list for every bad guy out there. You just had to like him over a normal guy...'_ her train of thought went on, chiding her with heavy sarcastic tones. _'If he wasn't worth it...'_

Sipping her draft lightly, Natasha gave the idea consideration. "Let me see what I can do. I may still have some pull with the permit guys; I might be able to convince them to look the other way."

The thanks Holly had crafted was humble, but heartfelt. If it allowed her the safety and the ability to stay the course with Steve (and not potentially kill anybody), she would take whatever Natasha had to offer. She knew it was a favor, and that she would really owe her for all that she was doing, but no matter what, she would take it.

For Steve, she would do it.

"And to think, we were going to spend the night watching _One Day_ and _Hysteria_," Sarah whispered in delight. Nodding to Natasha, who was affecting nonchalance, she went on, "Hanging with Black Widow beats that by a long shot!"

"Did you intentionally pun there?" Holly covered her inner musings with a weak chuckle, and the three of them went back to their libations. Deep down, she could agree that being in the Black Widow's company wasn't all bad.

* * *

**A/N:** So this chapter grew and blew up like crazy. I'm just glad it didn't turn into complete gun porn, like it threatened. And I am tired; it was actually exhausting to write this one, holy cow.

To me, it made sense that security options would have to be looked into. Natasha stepping in was my idea. And before you ask: Steve did not put Nat up to it. She took the initiative on this.

According to a couple sources, civilians are not permitted to carry Tasers in DC. However, in this universe, they will probably find a way to bend the rules.

And if it wasn't terribly clear, let me be frank: I know almost NOTHING about guns, gun safety, etc. What little I gleaned was from several websites (in particular , and several hunting magazine sites). It was fun to make Sarah a hunter and experienced with rifles; in that case, she's modeled after an old friend who is a music teacher by day, but still goes hunting when deer season comes 'round. At least someone will have Holly's back if the shit hits the fan. Pardon my language.

For some reason, I can completely see Natasha being into Lady Gaga's music. Don't ask me why, I just think she would like it.

No Steve this time save by mention, but Captain America can never be away for long. ;)

Thanks all for reading, PLEASE REVIEW, and I will see you all for the next one!


	24. Chapter 24

A drone hovered in the air, poised for attack. It was one of the few left from the contingent sent out to eliminate its programmed enemies. The fallen were strewn about, sparks flickering at separated joints, but it paid them no heed. It had a mission to complete. Searching out its prey, it slowly moved between the concrete pillars, tracking damaged but still online. Heat signatures indicated enemies in the area, but direct targeting had been destroyed. One of the enemies, flying around the other level, was occupied with another drone. The second, the one it had followed, was hiding, its trail bleeping every so often. It moved, slowly, patiently...

Alerts began to rattle, and the drone had only mere seconds to react before the spinning disk ricocheted off its head. Turning, it fired repulsor beams from its palms, all of which were either dodged or reflected back as a blur retrieved the disk with ease. The enemy rebounded around and over fallen beams and concrete, red, white, and blue patterns turning in the drone's eye. For all its firepower, it was not prepared for a rear attack, with the enemy jumping from behind onto its torso. A thin edge sliced into its wired neck, shutting down the machine and causing them both to spiral to the ground. But while the metal drone plummeted downward gracelessly, the enemy sprang away, tucking and rolling into a softer landing.

The enemy stood, enjoying a half second of reprieve before another drone came to avenge its fallen comrade. It peppered the enemy with shots, driving it down the length of the room. It could not be stopped, not even when massive chunks of crumbled foundation were flung by the smaller enemy as it evaded left and right. Cornering the target, it moved in for the kill. However, the impressive nature of its charge was short-lived, given that a rogue repulsor punctured its head from the side.

"Not bad, if I do say so myself," crowed the new arrival, his canned voice sounding inordinately pleased. The other removed his helmet, shaking his head in acknowledgment.

"Thanks." Steve Rogers passed a hand over his brow, assessing the mechanical carnage. "Another round, or are we done?"

Tony Stark's faceplate slid back as he pulsed lower to the ground. "Eh, I think thirty is enough for one day."

Tapping a built-in key pad on his wrist, Tony manipulated the drones to reassemble with the objective of taking themselves down to maintenance. A couple were completely disorganized, and it was slightly unsettling for Steve to watch literal arms and legs march past him to a service carrier in the far wall.

The equipment testing, as Tony put it, was a success. As the training room around them began to restructure itself into a blank, open concrete space (with the metal and solid obstructions disappearing into the walls or floor) Steve was inclined to agree with his notion; the new uniform worked with his movements fluidly, allowing him better mobility. The fact that there weren't any trackers planted in the seams was also a positive. The magnetized gloves were taking some getting used to, as the installed leather straps on his shield were hindering their purpose, but that would be easily remedied. To be able to perform a foot flip and have it attach effortlessly to his arm was satisfying. He just had to be careful around other metal objects; in the midst of of the earlier testing, he'd gotten attached to a shaft in the wall. Detaching from it, though, went better than detaching from the elevator a few months ago.

"Nicely done, Cap," Tony confided, landing on a platform of the opposite end of the room and watching as Steve did some shield-tossing for a few minutes. As it wavered upon reattaching to the captain's arm, Stark frowned. "Couple of tweaks here and there, and you should be golden."

The captain nodded, removing the shield from his arm and positioning it on his back harness. "Good. Thanks."

Tony lifted his arms, pieces of the armor removed automatically by the installed robotics. As the front plating was pulled off, he unconsciously rubbed the center of his chest. "Don't thank me just yet. Gotta discuss payment."

Steve shot him a look. "By any chance would you be accepting real money for this?"

Tony smirked, the last of the armor gone and being whisked up to storage. "Your partner drank my Glenlivet—twenty-five year old Glenlivet, by the way—on my jet. The least you can do is explain what was going on."

"He wanted a taste of the high life," Steve deflected, sighing inwardly. He knew Tony was determined to discover what had happened, but he had hoped, in vain, that it would be swept under the rug. No such luck, evidently.

"Nice try," snickered Tony, leading the way back to the elevator. "The irregular flight patterns were easy enough to track; didn't even have to use JARVIS. Why England, and then Germany?"

Steve's lips pressed into a thin line as they boarded the elevator, his stomach dropping distracting him briefly as he removed his gloves, placing them inside his helmet. Buying him some time to think, to structure his answer. The impatience the other man was holding back practically radiated around them, smothering the air as Tony began to bounce on the balls on his feet.

"We were following a lead, for a missing person. Barton pointed us in the right direction, but...trail went cold after a couple of days."

Tony stared hard at him, though his face betrayed nothing. "A missing person."

Warily, Steve met his gaze, dipping his chin. "The Winter Soldier. A HYDRA agent who had been sent to kill me and Nat. He disappeared after the disaster; I wanted to find him."

It was something of the truth and something of a lie. But it was the most that he could give away for the moment; to reveal to his teammate that his oldest friend had turned into an assassin, and had slipped out of his grasp multiple times (which were of his own doing, though mostly accidental) would not go over well. Still, it would be inevitably discussed at some point. It was better to at least be marginally honest.

If Bucky wanted a shot at clearing himself, if he ever came back, then he needed a chance to be distanced from his checkered past with HYDRA. Claiming separate entities rather than one man could help with that.

The hooded glare Stark shot him told him the he detected falseness somewhere in his words, but he wasn't pinpointing the exact origins of it. He blinked, once, twice, and then glanced away. He would let it slide, for the time being.

"Barton knew?" Tony sounded incredulous.

Steve shrugged. "More like stumbled upon. He crossed paths with him while out doing HYDRA round-up."

"Which we'll all be doing shortly, I bet." Though significantly wounded, HYDRA still posed a threat to the world's security. Despite having some of the nation's best agents ferreting them out, the public outcry for the Avengers to take control of the operations was growing day by day. It would not be much longer until the team reformed.

"Just a matter of 'when' now," Steve concurred, grimacing a little. Finally the elevator stopped, depositing him outside his quarters. Tony left him to change, instead venturing upstairs to get everything in line for dinner and directing his teammate to leave the uniform just inside the door for pick-up and storage. Several hours had been spent reconfiguring, recalibrating, altering a superimposed training environment and actual sparring against one another, and both men were ready to be done. Stomach growling, Steve was eager enough to put away the suit and shield to get some food. Although, upon pulling the sweaty armor and boots off, he decided to take a side trip and use the shower facilities first.

Tony, as a rule, was not much of a cook, and in the past had relied on personal staff to take care of meals. Otherwise, he'd organized takeout from preferred restaurants. Such was the case that Saturday night, and around Italian takeout containers the duo congregated a little after eight o'clock. They were on the top floors, redesigned in a penthouse style, though a laboratory and hospital bay took up the upper decks. It was lavishly decorated, a full bar spread along the inner wall and a pool table somewhere on a second tier. The outer wall was sheer glass, revealing the skyline and the beauty of the lighted night in New York City. They set up camp on the bank of couches, a glass coffee table holding up their goods.

Both men were without partners for the night, it turned out; Pepper was in California, prepping the home office for a major meeting on Monday, so Tony claimed. However, a third person did join them as they went in for seconds.

"Evening, Dr. Banner," Steve greeted him, smiling slightly. Bruce had been in residence at the Tower for around a year, deeming it time to return from his work overseas. The doctor looked careworn, though his exhausted grin was warm enough. His glasses were hooked along the collar of his shirt, the rest of his attire looking slept-in. In truth, he looked like he'd either had a supremely late night or a terribly early morning.

"Evening, Steve," he replied, taking the proffered package from Tony's grip. "Sorry I didn't drop by to say hi earlier, but, well..."

"He's still coming down from a lullaby," Stark interjected, before the captain could make any assumptions. Steve quirked up an eyebrow.

"Pardon?"

"We're still working on the terminology," Bruce cut Tony off, shooting him a halfhearted glare. "It's infantile, calling it that."

"I think the terminology is just fine. And you're infantile."

"Says the man who had a nanny until he was fourteen."

Stark didn't even blink. "Retorts the big green cuddle monster."

"Fellas," Steve cut it, pointing his fork at them both. "Still a little lost here."

The lullaby, they explained, was a code for the compound that would help in bringing the Hulk out of his rage. In his ongoing efforts to find a potent stress reliever, Banner had enlisted Stark in developing a chemical combination that, when applied to his skin, reacted instantly and forced him into a mental and physical cooldown. For the benefit of Steve's understanding, it was likened to "one part giant vat of chamomile tea and two parts beefed-up Icy Hot, with loads of Thanksgiving tryptophan thrown in", a sort of gel best applied to the nerve endings in the wrist and hands as opposed to directly on the head. It wouldn't eliminate the Hulk by any means (and the disappointment lurking in the shadows of Bruce's eyes spoke volumes on his feelings) but it would bring him down enough to let Bruce take control again. The trouble was, it had to be applied while he was in Hulk-form, and he was in no frame of mind to do it to himself.

"Someone else has to do it?" Steve wondered, his expression betraying his disbelief.

"And not panic," Bruce remarked wryly, a corner of his mouth twitching up bitterly. "And it has to be removed from the applier's hands immediately after contact or they run the risk of getting knocked out themselves."

"But it works."

Bruce nodded. "A little too well. We've done trial runs the last few weeks, and I had too strong of a reaction the last time. It was a couple days ago, but I'm still recovering."

Stark shrugged. "Well, it was just preliminaries, but I think Romanoff handled herself well, all things considered. Even if she did bolt out of New York immediately after doing so."

That got the captain's attention. "_Nat's_ doing it?"

Stark nodded, his eyes flicking to Bruce for the barest second. "Seems the Hulk responds better to a female's touch and actually allows her to get close enough to do it. He's really a softy, underneath the sound and the fury."

Abruptly, Banner rose from his seat, taking his container with him and shuffling quickly out of the room. He determinedly kept his back straight and didn't even turn around when Stark muttered about a beauty taming a beast, minus the horns and heavy fur. Rogers rolled his eyes at that, but didn't deign to comment. He was still ruminating over the idea of something, anything, being able to calm the Hulk, and that Natasha would be instrumental in doing so. It would certainly change the game, somewhat.

"So, moving on: has your gal tamed your beast yet?"

"Tony!" Steve barked, a little stunned by the question. Stark shrugged.

"Guess that's a 'no.'" He shoveled in a mouthful of his dinner, chewing and considering. "But anyway, that's going all right? You and..."

"Holly. Yes," the captain responded, a tad leery about sharing too much information at that point in the juncture. "We're...we're doing well."

The little half-smile he sported revealed far more than his words did, and Stark would have to have been blind to miss it. "And she's okay with all of your...you-ness?"

He circled his fork in the air, indicating all that made up Steve's character and personality, his past and his future, his time as Captain America and his duties as such. It was a loaded gesture, one that he made with good reason. From Steve understood, when Pepper first discovered the dual identity that Tony had intended to take up, she had been in shock. Now, she handled the situation like a champ, but even when she had been just Tony's assistant, it wasn't an easy road for her to travel. He could see the possible conclusions being drawn.

"As much as she can be." It was his turn to for a sour grin. "It was a little...incredible for her, at the beginning. Now, though, she gets it."

"I hope so," Tony commented softly. Clearing his throat, he shifted uncomfortably. "Because if work's going to be picking up soon, we can't have our fearless leader getting nagged senseless."

"She'll be fine." Steve infused confidence in his tone, pushing his container away. "She's been happy so far."

_'And so have I,' _was the unspoken end of the sentence, which was loud and clear. And he had been; it had been a very long time since he could claim any form of happiness. But he knew that he'd started down the road a few months previously, and he was beginning to realize it.

Stark gave him a clipped nod. "Good. Glad to hear she's coping with dating a studly geriatric."

"I will point out that Thor is older than all of us combined; maybe you should save those remarks for him," Steve countered, a ghost of a laugh in the back of his voice.

Stark got up then, moving off to pour himself a drink at the bar. "See, I'd do that if he didn't wield the Mallet of Doom."

Rogers tilted his head, contemplating the concept. "Becoming the Iron Pancake wouldn't be ideal."

"Better to be on good terms with a god. You, however," came the response, accompanied by a pointing finger, "are free game."

"Go ahead. I'm sure you'll enjoy solo clean-up after the next mission after doing so."

Tony paused, glass halfway to his mouth. "Who elected you leader again?"

"Literally everyone, including you." If it was an exaggeration, it wasn't much of one. From the moment Tony insisted he call out orders in the Battle of New York, from the very second everyone deferred to his words and did as he told them to, he was the leader. Nobody, in that time or since, had objected, nor strove to take it off his shoulders. It was humbling, and overwhelming, to have some of the most talented beings on Earth (and one from beyond) be willingly under his command and take him seriously in that role.

Swallowing a swig of his scotch, Tony looked skyward, conceding the point. "Oh. Right."

A vibration against his leg made Steve jump in his seat, his shins thumping hard against the coffee table. He'd forgotten about his phone buried deep in his jeans pocket until then, and he mumbled a couple of sharp words under his breath as he retrieved it. The flashing notification indicated that he'd received a new text message from Holly, but upon opening it, there was only a video file attached.

"What in the...?" Suddenly a finger shot out from over his shoulder, accepting and opening the video. Tony looked entirely unapologetic as he gave him a harsh glare, and waved back at the screen as it started playing.

"Yell at me after the show," he said, directing both their attentions downward as Natasha's face filled the screen. He got the distinct impression that it wasn't going to be a corny video message, due to their teammate's appearance. They both brushed off her swiping another's phone; it was hardly the most outrageous thing she'd ever done.

The redheaded beauty beamed, her pupils slightly dilated but otherwise retaining her serenity. Loud country music played in the background, and she had to raise her voice to be heard over it and the whooping people loping around her.

"Hey, Steve. You're probably curious about what's going on," she said, her movements suggesting that she was threading her way through the crowd towards something. Two sets of eyebrows quirked up as the phone in her hand bobbed and weaved in and out. Turning the camera off her, she pointed it towards a mechanical bull set up in the back of a bar. The patrons cheered along as a young woman clambered atop the bull, latching her right hand tightly and waving the left wildly. Her short brown hair was pulled out of her face, which was flushed with laughter. A blonde girl jostled Natasha's arm, and she practically cackled as she looked on. It was Sarah, Holly's friend, but where...?

The brunette faced the camera, hooking a thumbs up at it before signaling to start the ride.

Steve's jaw dropped, while behind him Tony was doubled over trying to keep his laughter in. He reckoned he nearly busted a rib as Steve's girl dipped and turned around the ring, being thrown off after around four seconds of riding. Flying into a corner, she bounced along the floor padding for a little while, but managed to get to her feet well enough. Steve's shoulders had noticeably tightened as she fell off, a spike of worry going through him that wore off the instant she popped up unscathed. A couple older gentlemen assisted her out of the ring, handing her back towards her friends.

"Turns out your girlfriend is a cowgirl at heart. And likes vodka shots," Natasha chuckled, slamming back one of her own. It was rare for the ex-agent to let loose, but apparently she deemed that night as one of the few times that she did. And she'd taken Holly and Sarah along for the ride. Steve's jaw snapped back up, and his eyes remained wide. Tony had settled against the back of the couch, greatly amused.

"That's her? That's who those online magazines called, 'Miss Everyday?'" he asked, dark gaze tracking the young woman as she bumped along the corral, trying to locate her companions. All Steve could do was nod.

Holly jogged her way into the frame, grabbing what appeared to be an nearly empty beer mug off the table they had moved to. Holly's smile was wide, but she appeared to be ignorant of the phone pointed at her.

"Holy crap, that was fun! I've got bruises in six places, but still," she giggled, turning in her seat and catching sight of Natasha. "Wait, my phone...what are you—?"

The camera, and therefore Natasha, began to back away. "Sending..."

"Sending what? Natasha, don't! Give back my phone!"

Evidently a chase ensued, with Holly's outstretched hand flying in and out behind the redhead as she flew across the bar. She flashed a brilliant grin one last time, her finger hovering over the edge of the screen.

"She's fun, Steve."

"STEVE?! Oh, you bi—"

There the message cut off, and in the meantime while it had been playing there were texts that begged him not to watch the video, that cursed alcohol and the ex-agent in turn, and confessed that she would be nursing a hangover in the morning along with the embarrassment. The last one, an apology for disrupting the night and reiterating that he ignore the video, also bid him good night and sweet dreams, though it wasn't even past nine. Passing a hand over his face, Steve couldn't quite stop himself from expelling a breath of a chuckle, surprised though he was. Holly, riding a mechanical bull at a bar. It was a mental image that he wouldn't forget anytime soon.

Behind him, Tony's laughter began to peter off.

"She'll have bruises in more than six places," he murmured. Off the questioning glance thrown his way, he waved a hand. "Personal experience. Conference in Texas, about eight years ago. Nearly broke my tailbone."

"Ouch."

"It wasn't so bad. A lot of liquor broke my fall," he said knowingly, understanding exactly what had happened to Holly, if not the direct cause of her actions. Pivoting on his heel, Tony tossed over his shoulder, "You know, I thought the girl was gonna be just average, but you know, she kinda surprised me."

Resting back into the couch, Steve stared at the phone in his hands, shaking his head to himself before tapping the screen. "Yeah. She does that, now and again."

**Need me to drop some aspirin off at your place tomorrow, Princess?**

_**Nerfherder! Yes please. be the sweetest man live.**_

Rolling his eyes, he snorted at her grammar and smirked to himself. He could never say he entirely approved of her actions that night, but in the grand scheme of things, Holly could have done much worse. If she was recognized and scrutinized publicly for it, then there wasn't much that could be done about, and she'd have to tough it out. Something he was confident she could do. And he'd tough it out with her.

Again, there could have been a worse ending to the Saturday night.

**You got it, doll.**

* * *

**A/N:** The reassembling of the Avengers is nigh...I tried to provide a feasible explanation to what I perceive the "lullaby" to be (_Age of Ultron_ has been out for a month now, so I don't feel like I'm spoiling anything at this point). For me, a simple phrase and touch on Nat's part for Bruce didn't seem like it was enough; I feel like some sort of chemical agent would be involved. (In fact, that's what I thought when it was first executed in the movie, that Nat had used some sort of drug transferred by physical contact to bring him down.) And because it doesn't actively hurt him, I feel like he would, as the Hulk, be more receptive to it when he is on the end of a spree. That said, I don't own the lullaby, nor any of the other mentioned events/plot points that belong to MCU that are mentioned.

Twenty-five year old Scotch whiskey is expensive, y'all. Holy buckets...

Yes, Holly rode a mechanical bull. Gotta cut loose sometimes. And for the record, Natasha isn't full-blown drunk. She's a tad tipsy, but coherent enough to do what she did. Because she's having fun, and can't be serious all the time; that's exhausting.

Been having an off...couple of days, which is why the chapter is a day or two late. Sorry about that. And we should be jumping to September in the next one, gotta get out of August.

Thanks all for reading, PLEASE REVIEW, and I will see you all for the next one!


	25. Chapter 25

What had begun for Steve as a one-weekend excursion to test new equipment became a weekly endeavor, over the next month, to empower Stark Tower and train once more as part of the Avengers. HYDRA, after the low blow it was dealt in late March, was recovering its strength. Members of the organization were crawling out of the woodwork, ready to avenge themselves. After all, though a great number of heads had been cut off, there were always more to take the place of the fallen. A number of odd occurrences began to spring up, attributed to them, including kidnapping, murder, and bombings in multiple cities. And they were hardly being secretive; indeed, they seemed to taunt local and international law enforcement with their symbol burnt into whatever buildings happened to be nearest to their attack.

People, grieved at their losses and incredulous at the suffering that was surfacing after months of quiet, were becoming outraged at the lack of effectiveness of their protectors. The Avengers, it seemed, had to reassemble, for the good of the world. With Thor returned to Earth, and the reallocation of Clint and Natasha to the main headquarters (he from southern Italy, she from Georgia—the state, not the country, surprisingly—and none too soon), the plan to ferret out the last of the strongholds of HYDRA was ready to unfold.

A little after September 1st, a full meeting was called, with every Avenger in the room for the first time in around two years. Their intentions were to make small hits, enough to draw out the main leaders and stem the violence. Tony revealed his intentions of removing the label of "Stark" from the tower, replacing it with one giant letter "A." As well as that, an "A" would be attached to all uniforms. Except, of course, for his armor. It would look tacky on the Iron Man suit. The advertisement, he proclaimed, could only do them good in the long run.

"And make us and this place the easiest targets for all bad guys out there, but hey, who am I to complain?" Clint muttered out the side of his mouth to his companions. Tony ignored him, instead going ahead with the idea of changing the alignment of his drones to make them a sort of on-call army. Maria Hill, present as Stark's new secretary, was able to acquire one of the old quinjets, along with nearly all of SHIELD's documents over the last several months, and spoke of repurposing it all for their needs. They needed all hands on deck to rebuild the team, and its defenses, from the ground up.

As such, a direct result of those efforts was that they would keep Steve out of D.C. for days at a time, averaging about three or four a week. Not that he had anything to do with the technical matters in the tower, as he left that for Bruce and Tony to sweat over, but he could train, study, and otherwise do the heavy lifting as needed. Repairs and upgrades needed a human hand, and he was willing to jump in. Often Thor would ask him to aid in his quest to rid the earth of the last of the frost monsters ("They spawn at an alarming rate, my friend, and the ones I had tracked to London came from one of the worst and wiliest sort," he'd confessed after returning from one long bout, to Steve's bemusement), or help him puzzle over the possible locations of Loki's staff. Obliging his partner, he felt himself falling back into the easy rhythm fighting and serving. In a strange way, it was almost comfortable.

Consequently, his time spent at home was precious, more so now that he actually had a girl to go home to. Ostensibly, he retained his room at Sam's house, though he was out more often than not. Holly didn't censure Steve when he did his duty, even if she wished he could stay at home instead. The closest she'd gotten to angry with him over his work was at the end of August, when he had to unceremoniously leave her at the house one night when Thor descended from the skies in an urgent attempt to find him. She had stared at the thunder god with no little awe, her mouth hanging open a little. If anything, the best descriptor for that event was "stunned." As he retrieved his shield and pressed a parting peck to her cheek, she'd shaken herself out of it, just telling him he owed her dinner when he got back. His reply was lost as Thor pulled him into the wayward beams, Holly's eyebrows nearly hitting her hairline as they went.

(Steve refused to travel that way ever again after that one incident. The lightning was one thing, but blasting through time and space while nearly getting his arm ripped out of the socket was another. He'd rather take his chances in a rickety biplane in the future.)

With the summer slipping into fall, and with the surge in Avenger activity, Holly found that public attention around her began to vamp up. Where once she could tread the streets of D.C. without a single person taking a second glance at her, she found it slightly unnerving to have people outright stare as she went through the aisles of the grocery store, or when she went out with Sarah and her new boyfriend Aaron, who was not a little impressed to meet her after discovering her famous significant other. At least he had the grace to not gawk. The rude questions about her relationship from strangers were a little more awkward (thus far, at least, nobody had asked for an autograph or a picture. Perhaps she gave off a "don't push your luck" vibe).

The important part to remember, as Sarah often reminded her, was to not worry about it. After all, worrying that public speculation about whether or not she and Steve were still an item was nothing compared to worrying that some fell beast from Mordor was going to rip his face off. Steve, having caught the tail end of that particular rant one afternoon, praised her for keeping her priorities straight, but that the creatures actually came from Jotunheim. Though they might be distant cousins, he'd remarked; she had nothing to say to that, eyes going wide and jaw snapping shut at the sincerity of his statement.

Still, she'd kept her head and her peace, her heart flip-flopping in her chest upon his arrivals and departures. When he did have to go, she just told him to come back to her in one piece. Or at the very least, not to get killed. The words were softened with a long kiss or two, and then she'd watch him drive off, arms folded tightly around her middle and her farewell grin belying the worry in her eyes.

It was rewarding to see the worry melt away when he returned, safe and relatively unharmed. It was worth it, coming back with a few scratches, to come home to her again. For she, in turn, felt happier when he was near. And safer, much safer, as a gnawing feeling of fear was building within her.

And evidently, she wasn't doing as good a job at hiding it as she'd thought.

"What's wrong?" Steve asked from the kitchen archway, watching her closely. It was near the end of September, and he'd managed to take a break from the tower for a long weekend. After dinner together, she'd elected to do the dishes that time, ushering him towards the living room. It gave her the opportunity to think, she'd said. Something seemed off about her demeanor for the night, though, and when she didn't return long after the water had stopped draining, he definitely suspected something was troubling her. He was determined to at least understand the cause. It was potentially dangerous territory that he was wading into, but he'd faced worse in his life.

Although, if she was upset, at least she didn't have access to a loaded gun, like Peggy. No matter what lessons Natasha had been giving her, she still did not carry one.

Turning to face him, she pulled herself out of her reverie, resting her hip against a counter. Her dark eyes cut away briefly, wondering whether or not to tell him. After all, Steve was very protective of those he cared about, and he had a damned good reason to be. She didn't want him to be needlessly concerned. Glancing back up, she saw that she had his full attention, and that he would most likely be quick to spot a fib. Better to be honest, then; less repercussions that way.

Drawing a deep breath, Holly murmured, "It's nothing. Just...a feeling. Every now and again, over the last couple of weeks, I've felt like I'm being watched."

An eyebrow quirked up, forcing her to clarify: "Not the 'curious public' kind of thing. I mean like being spied on."

Silence settled around them, with Steve stepping up to her and his demeanor going cold.

"Really." It wasn't a question, but she knew he would want more details than that.

"Yeah. When I go out, once in awhile, I get this nagging sense that someone is following me," she explained, pulling the ends of her sleeves over her hands and fiddling with them. "It's not consistent, and goes away fairly quickly. But I can't help it; I can't shake the idea that someone might be keeping an eye on me."

Reaching out, Steve took her hands and forced them to stop their ministrations. "Have you seen anybody tracking you, anything to back that up?"

She shook her head, looking rueful. "Nothing definite. A time or two, I thought I saw some guy in a dark hoodie watching me, but then again, a lot of guys wear hoodies, so I can't verify it. With people recognizing me now, staring happens more often. And that makes it worse: either whoever is watching me is far better at hiding in plain sight than I think, or I'm freaking out over nothing."

Snorting, she rolled her eyes at her own words.

"I feel like an idiot."

"You're not an idiot for thinking that," Steve told her, his gaze holding hers. Gut feelings, he knew, were right more often than not, and if Holly felt like she was being stalked... "But something happened today."

"Yes," she confessed. "Some guy sat on the bench across the street today, and I thought he looked really sketchy. He staring into the front windows of the store for over an hour. Hair tucked into a hood, sunglasses on, just sitting there. I hid out in my office for awhile, but when I came out he was still there. Hadn't moved an inch. I glared him down, which I'm not proud of, but he didn't react. And then after I got distracted for a moment, I looked back and he was gone. Just disappeared."

A grin twisted out of her grimace, allowing her to find a way out of the conversational mire she'd brought them both into. "And out of the three people I know who can move that fast, one is too conspicuous, one is too female, and the other, well, I doubt he would have stayed on the bench for too long knowing I was there."

Guessing where she was going with the statement, Steve allowed himself to be distracted. "Oh, really?"

Tossing her hair airily, she replied, "He couldn't have resisted my charm for that long."

He chuckled, the self-deprecating sting she'd applied to her words brushed aside. "Confident about that?"

In answer, she leaned forward, pulling her hands out of his and sliding them up to his shoulders. His gentle grip on her waist brought her closer, his blue eyes darkening at her touch. Rising on the balls of her feet, her mouth ghosted over his, her breath sending a shiver down his spine. Being near him, with him, made her feel so much, and she wanted the good to override the nagging in the back of her mind.

"Yes."

A good deal of time followed after in which neither spoke, their lips becoming otherwise engaged. They gave into the moment, all other thoughts and sounds save for the thumping of their hearts and sharp breathing fading away. He was getting better, much better, Holly noted warmly, her lips parted by the smooth slide of his tongue. A low moan came from the back of her throat, which he took as encouragement. No talking, no thinking, she just wanted this.

However, it wasn't long until Steve wanted to get back to the matter at hand, even if it was a struggle to do so. Pulling away, he took a moment to steady himself, resting his forehead against hers briefly. The trembling of her body nearly broke his concentration again, but he forced himself past it. It was too important to put to one side.

"Back to the point," he said, standing straight but not relinquishing his hold on her, "I think I'll get in touch with Tony, see if he can supply anything as far security goes for your apartment."

She bit her lip, hesitant to ask favors from someone who didn't even know her personally. She was ready to kick herself for not having something better in place already. Stupid mistake to make, even if this was nothing, she thought. "Okay."

"And definitely keep the bat with you as much as you can."

Holly gave a little hum of agreement. "And the taser. That thing lives in my purse now."

Both of them were thankful that Natasha had come through on that one. However, she did take the time to inform them both that all her favors on both sides of the globe had been called in; next time, they would have to pay her a fee for her services, serious despite the cheeky grin that accompanied the statement.

"Right." With one arm wrapping around her, Steve guided her out of the kitchen and into the living room, ready to make the calls necessary for improving her safety.

"Doesn't make me feel much better, but it's helping."

As they settled on the couch, he inquired, "And what would make you feel better?"

Biting her lip, she took quite a long time to answer. Idly, Steve wondered if he should've just called Tony in the interim, given how long she was pondering the question.

"Will you stay over tonight?" she blurted, her expression wary. He blinked at her bluntness. "Please?"

_'Oh, if I could go back in time and tell my past self that this was going to happen...' _Steve mused, the little guy deep down nearly turning cartwheels. In the two months that they'd been together, neither had as of yet stayed over for the night. Out of a sense of propriety and respect, Steve hadn't ever insisted on it, and Holly didn't want to push him into something that would make him uncomfortable. Even if it was getting more and more intolerable to watch him go at the end of an evening.

But now, well, things, were a little different than they were two months ago. And if it would make her feel better to stay, then...

"I can do that," Steve managed to say after a couple minutes. Awkwardly, he attempted to salute her. "Captain America, at your service."

Her mouth curved into a small smile as she hugged him tightly in thanks. "Funny, but I think I would prefer Steve Rogers."

He didn't quite know what to say to that, rather he hugged her back and just shot her his half-grin when she moved away, pulling up her laptop and handing him his phone to make his calls.

**xXxXxXx**

At ten o'clock, Holly's jaw nearly cracked on the yawn she couldn't hold in. A long day at work completed with anxiety and frustration had taken a bit out of her. The fact that she'd woken up too early, well before her alarm went off, didn't help matters either. A pair of hands reached over, tugging the laptop carefully out of her grasp.

"When your jaw unhinges for a yawn, it's time to call it a night," Steve muttered, closing the device and setting it neatly on the coffee table. "C'mon, now."

"Yes, Mom," she mumbled in response, waking up a little as she got up, trotting towards the bathroom to brush her teeth. A couple of nervous butterflies fluttered in her stomach at the idea of Steve spending the night, and she had to balance her hands on the bowl of the sink to steady herself. She chastised herself, her paranoia getting the better of her and only that inducing her to ask him to stay, but she pushed the thoughts away. There was already enough to dwell on, and piling on definitely wouldn't help.

After rinsing out her mouth and changing into a tank top and sleep shorts, she padded back out to the living room to make sure the front door was locked and bolted. She stopped short, seeing Steve grab a blanket from the hall closet and settle it on the couch.

"What are you doing?" she asked, the words out before she could stop herself.

Steve, unaware that he did anything wrong, paused. He gestured at the sofa, a curious look on his face. "I was, I was just..."

Outwardly, she struggled hard not to giggle a little as she made her way to the door for inspection.

"Am I really going to have to beg my boyfriend to sleep with me?"

A sharp grunt greeted her ears, and she fought even harder to keep the smile off her face when she came returned to the room. The expression he sported was a cross between incredulity and surprise, like he was a kid in a candy store and was just told he could take whatever he wanted, free of charge. My, how things had changed since his time, she mused silently, finding the situation sweet as well as humorous.

He scratched his neck, not quite meeting her eye line. "Holly—"

Suddenly afraid that she might have pushed him too far, she cut him off swiftly. "Just sleep, I promise. I'd feel safer, with you in the same room. I know that things are...well, I know that it's not time yet to...Not that I don't care about you, but I do, which is why I don't want to yet. And I'm not ready to, either so—"

"Doll, you're rambling."

_'True enough. Way to go, you moron,' _her brain shouted, and it was her turn to look away.

"And you didn't give me a chance to say yes or no."

Tugging on the hem of her shirt, she sighed quietly. "Oh. Sorry."

"It's all right," he replied. Bracing herself for the negative, she thought she had been mistaken in her hearing when he spoke up again. "I'll, uh, follow you straightaway."

And he did, grabbing his shield from where it rested and his heavier footfall pattering behind her as she led the way, taking his hand as they went. The bedroom walls were a light green color, washed with lamplight. A few framed photos were on the walls, as well as a framed poster of the Eiffel Tower. The bedspread was a shade of green so dark it was almost gray, the whole of the room a visual contrast to his own sparse room back at the house. This was a bit more homey, his shield looking a bit out of place as he settled it beside the nightstand.

There wasn't much she could do in regards to sleepwear for him, though she was able to find a pair of old basketball shorts her brother had left behind when he visited a couple years ago. He'd gone out of the room and changed, returning to set his jeans and overshirt on top of her dresser along the opposite wall. Holly had already crawled into bed, on the side furthest from the door, and was watching him as he stepped gingerly up to his side. Sitting down carefully, he tried to find his tongue to speak.

Though he'd gladly agreed to stay, and was actually more than willing to share the bed with her, it was still something of a big deal for him. This relationship held a lot of firsts for him, and this was yet another one. He wanted to tell her that, wanted to let her know this was another step for him, but he couldn't do more than look at her over his shoulder, her head tilting to the side and her eyes blinking sleepily.

"Steve?" Her voice was slightly gravelly, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"You can lay down. It's not gonna bite ya." For emphasis, Holly thumped her hand on the bed, a small smirk gracing her mouth. Her hooded gaze and hair tumbling around her face, her body swathed in sheets, painted quite a picture. There wasn't a part of it he didn't like, making fire sprint through his veins. He snorted at his behavior in that moment, rising to turn the sheets back and climb in.

"Yeah, no, I know."

Switching off the lamp, he was only allowed a few seconds to feel like a fool before a gentle peck grazed his temple.

"Good night, Steve."

Well, that certainly made it a little better.

"Good night."

Staring at the ceiling in the dark, he wasn't quite sure how much time had passed as he heard Holly's tempered breathing. Propping himself up on his elbow, he could just make out her curled up form facing away from him, her fingers slipping quietly as she picked at the comforter.

"You're still worrying about it, aren't you?" he sighed. In truth, he was, too, but he knew she couldn't operate as well as he could on a mind full of thought and no sleep the next morning. A lifetime habit of borrowing trouble wasn't easily broken.

She snickered humorlessly. "Can't really turn my brain off."

It was something he didn't even need to think about. Shuffling over, he pulled her tightly against him, tucking his arm around her waist. Extending his other arm above her head helped alleviate the pressure.

"That help at all?"

Her hand slid over his, sweeping over his skin tenderly. A deep sigh of contentment reached his ears.

"Considerably." A pause, and then: "Thank you, for staying."

Brushing it off, his eyes slowly, tiredly flicked shut. It was something she didn't have to thank him for, he'd have to remember to tell her that in the morning. Maybe her suspicions were nothing, maybe not. Tony suggested a few things for Holly's apartment security, he'd see to it. They both would. He didn't want to lose her. He couldn't.

If, at worst, HYDRA was targeting his girl, he would make them sorry they ever even thought about it.

"My pleasure."

Before he slipped into the depths of sleep, he heard her distant giggle. "I'm sure."

**xXxXxXx**

Cold. It felt cold, on the nape of his neck. Hackles were rising, something digging into his skin. Coming out of his slumber, he was barely coherent of anything but the cold, and the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Get up."

At once, Steve's eyes snapped open. He _knew_ that voice, knew whose cold, metal fingers were gripping him by the scruff. The looming figure in the dark moved closer, shaking him.

"Get up," Bucky's voice hissed, the authority of the Winter Soldier bleeding through. Bewildered, Steve's hands curled into fists, knotting up the empty sheets to his side. Empty...

Holly was gone.

Immediately, he shoved himself away from the mattress, chopping Bucky's metal arm at the wrist to make him let go. Something about the quickness of his movements must have alarmed his old friend, as he threw a jab at his face. Glancing off Steve's chin, it only served to infuriate him further, and the pair ultimately became locked in combat. There was hardly any time to talk, or even figure out what was really going on. Punches landed on his gut, his kidneys, and Steve got in a few kicks to Bucky's torso and legs, felling him much like he had done to both him and Sam in June. Steve was aiming to subdue him, to pin him down.

Bucky, as far he could tell, was there to take him down.

Steve needed to come out on top. He needed to know what he'd doing here, why he was here...what he'd done with Holly. His shield had long since been pushed away from his grasp, his opponent refuse to give him the ground to get it. Struggling against Bucky's iron grip, he broke away long enough only to be tackled to the bed. The fingers found purchase in his neck, his hands flying up to trying ripping them away. Air became limited, and he brought up a knee to hit his old friend in the hip. The grasp slackened, long enough for him to take a half breath.

Somewhere at the back of his mind, he noted dully that he wasn't choking him hard enough to kill him.

"Listen, stop!" Bucky grumbled, not giving an inch. "I need you to—"

The overhead light flicked on, blinding both men for a moment. In that moment, Steve heard a whoosh of air, followed by the thud of contact of metal on skin. Cursing, Bucky slipped away, giving Steve the chance to breathe. Another thunk came hard on the heels of the first, and his vision cleared up enough to see Holly standing just behind Bucky, knuckles white after smashing the man in the side with her bat and her mouth twisted in fury.

The dangerous power of the Winter Soldier radiated through him, and Steve couldn't let him recover any further. Grabbing up the shield from where it had slipped under the bed, he brought the broadside down hard against Bucky's skull while he was busy glaring at the offending woman.

Within seconds, he crumpled to the ground, knocked out cold.

Here was the herald of Holly's nerves; Steve had no doubt Bucky was the one tailing his girlfriend for the last few weeks. But why? What was the point?

_Why?_

Unbelievable. That was all he could describe the entire situation as. Utterly unbelievable. Dropping the shield on the bedspread, Steve knelt down on the floor, feeling at the other man's neck for a pulse. It was steady enough, and he wasn't bleeding from the impact of the shield. Passing a hand over his face, he barely registered the bat being dropped and the rapid footsteps coming to his side.

"Are you okay?" Holly asked, sinking down and turning his chin so that he met her gaze. He nodded, his throat already throbbing from the near-death grip Bucky had had on it. Bruises wouldn't be far behind, same for his arms and legs. Otherwise, he felt okay. Scanning her over, he could see she was no worse for the wear, save that her eyes were filled with subdued fear. And the mottled red in her face had drained away. "...Is he dead?"

Steve shook his head, pulling a face as he took in a harsh breath. "No, just knocked out."

"Oh. Okay, then." For a moment, she waited, his head and heart pounding in the quiet. Lacing her fingers together, she attempted to get the shaking to stop, her own intake of air shallow. Soon enough, she dared to ask the question circling through both their minds. "Now what?"

* * *

**A/N:** Hmm, now what indeed? ;)

What, you guys didn't think I'd let Bucky get away for good, did you? His arrival, purpose, and presence will be explained in the next chapter! For now, though, I'm tuckered out. I've been planning and altering this chapter for a LONG TIME. A really long time. And it has gone through some major revision from the original idea, let me tell you. And literally two nights ago, I figured out how to fix it once more. Holy cow.

I own nothing of the ideas borrowed from the MCU, including elements of _Thor_ and _Thor: The Dark World_. Nor do I own anything from the minute mention of _The Lord of the Rings._ All those things belong to their respective owners.

All right, I'm going to take a minute and thank all of you, again, for your awesome reviews, followings, and favorites! I appreciate every single one of you taking even a moment to read this story, and I cannot express my gratitude more heartily for the words of encouragement and advice you all have given me. Truly, thank you all.

Alrighty then, I will see you all for the next chapter, then...


	26. Chapter 26

The first task, Steve determined quickly, was to get Bucky off the floor and out of the bedroom. As he grabbed the other fellow under the arms, Holly circled quickly around to grab his legs. Though she was fairly certain Steve could have accomplished the feat on his own (she'd seen him lift a motorcycle before, and Bucky was in no way heavier than that), she suspected that she had helped out primarily to give herself something to do, so she could think and process what the hell had gone on.

At 3:23 AM, it was far too early in the day to function, let alone find a virtual stranger in the house.

Briefly before that, she had woken up, shaken out of sleep by a desperate need for the bathroom. It was a little difficult to extract herself from Steve's hold, as his arm was still looped around her middle, but one she managed to wriggle free without waking him, she thought she was golden. Blearily, she padded her way out of the room, choosing to forgo flicking on any lights as she went. The layout of her apartment was ingrained in her memory, and she was not ready to be blinded. The shape in the darkness did not catch her notice, and she proceeded to use the facilities in peace.

The muted pace of footsteps down the hall eluded her, but even she could not ignore the thumps and groans of a struggle while she washed her hands. Something was wrong, and her blood froze. Hesitantly, she creaked open the bathroom door, peering around it. The bedroom door was wide open, and as she squinted into the dark, she could see two larger forms jabbing and kicking at one another. A distant street lamp blinked on and off through her window, glinting off the metal arm of the assailant. Her jaw dropped.

Steve was in trouble, and it was his old friend that was causing it.

Stealing out of the bathroom swiftly, Holly had run down the hall, heedless of the danger to herself. When it came to her safety, she could listen to advice, ask for help, plan out her defense. And Steve, she knew, could handle himself. After all, he was a soldier, a veteran, and an Avenger. But that didn't mean she was going to sit back and let someone—a pal, a dangerous enemy—try to take him down without her doing something about it. Not there, not in her home.

Scooping up the baseball bat, which remained perched against the wall just inside the door, she had turned on the overhead light, taking only a moment to confirm that the man hulking over her boyfriend was indeed choking him before she swung. Ultimately, it was Steve who got the upper hand with his shield, but she was more glad than ever that she had been practicing and putting more power into her swing. At least she managed to distract the intruder long enough to give him the chance to fight back.

_'Bucky,'_ she reminded herself. _'His name is Bucky.'_

Now, though, they were stuck waiting for him to wake from his comatose state. The pair settled him on the couch, Steve placing his torso down carefully while Holly dropped his legs unceremoniously. Squeezing the bridge of her nose, she sighed to herself as he rolled him onto his side.

"How long do you think he'll be out?"

Steve shook his head, rubbing at his neck and wincing. "I'm not a psychic."

The stunned look in his gaze had receded somewhat, but clearly it was still a shock to find his erstwhile best friend-turned-enemy in his girlfriend's home, fighting him in the night. She certainly wasn't over it, and Holly knew that Steve would definitely not get past it anytime soon. At long last, his search had come to fruition; it just happened in the least likely place either of them had expected it to.

"Guesstimate, then?" she asked, looking down at the strewn intruder once more. His dark hair, long when she first saw him, had been cut bluntly, flopping over his eyes. The metal arm was exposed, the sleeve of his black shirt cut off, the painted star of the shoulder fading away. An intricate harness was wrapped around his hips, but it wasn't the first thing she'd noticed. If he had been a stranger on the street, she wouldn't have looked at him twice. Well, maybe she would; he was a looker, after all, tall and blue-eyed to boot. But she had a man in her life, and wouldn't think of Bucky as more than just another guy. Most likely that was his intention.

Bucky had to be the one following her, she just knew it, deep down in her gut.

"Anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours, if we let this go. He's always had a hard head," Steve murmured, a corner of his mouth twisting up. There was a story behind that, no doubt, but she knew it wasn't the time to ask. "Taking him to the hospital isn't the best idea, but if this goes on for much longer, we'll have to do that."

Checking the man's pulse and breathing again, he lightly asked Holly to head out to his bike and bring him the kit inside the left pack. Taking her keys, she ran out swiftly to the parking lot, nearly forgoing shoes in her haste. Fumbling under the eerie street lights, she quickly found the kit he'd described: hard, black plastic, about the size of a small tin. Dashing back inside and up the stairs, she took a breath to be grateful none of her neighbors had woken because of the noise. Maybe they'd complain in the morning, but for the moment they were elsewhere, and she was glad to have nobody else discovering what was going on. In her absence, Steve had taken it upon himself to rifle through Bucky's pockets, searching for anything dangerous. Three knives and a tiny pistol were lined up on the coffee table when she'd returned, with Steve removing what looked to be a collapsible pointer and positioning it next to his other finds.

"If he had all that, then why didn't he use any of it?" she wondered aloud, coming alongside her companion when he stood up and handing him the kit. Popping it open, his finger tore through the assorted bandages and gauze, eventually withdrawing a small vial. Angling it away from either of their faces, his own expression was still dark, but the thoughtfulness within was growing.

"Because...because I think he was trying to just talk to me," he confessed his thoughts, breathing out slowly. "It just got out of hand."

Holly snorted, crossing her arms. "No shit."

The look he shot her spoke volumes, but he bit back the reprimand on his tongue, knowing she was speaking out of fear for him. Waving a hand at his silence, she shook her head and watched as he knelt down beside his fallen friend. Uncapping the vial in hand, he waved it under the other man's nose. One strong inhale later, the comatose man snorted and sputtered, coughing while his eyes opened and shut lethargically. Steve's shoulders, tense throughout the entire time they'd brought him out of the bedroom, relaxed a bit. Beneath the sternness in his eyes, there was sharp relief.

"Smelling salts?" Holly asked incredulously, taking the vial from his outstretched hand and capping it again swiftly.

"Ammonia inhalant," he corrected quietly. Off her raised eyebrows, he smirked and muttered, "But yes, that's basically what it was."

In the meantime, Bucky was struggling to sit up, and with little hesitation, Steve reached out to help him up. As he attempted to get Bucky to speak to him, Holly did not feel right, standing idly by. So she endeavored to set her house to rights.

In Holly's mind, that translated to figuring out exactly how Bucky had gotten in the apartment in the first place. The bathroom had checked out (no windows, and no blown-through wall), and the kitchen window was latched firmly when she spotted it last. Pacing towards the dining nook, a lump of dark material caught her attention. It was a sweatshirt of deep blue, and as she investigated it, it unrolled around a piece of cut glass with a suctioned cutting instrument attached to it, and what looked like one of those rappelling hook guns that she'd only ever seen used in action movies.

A stiff breeze hit her, and when she looked up at the propped open window, sporting a brand new hole both in screen and on the glass just beside the inside latch, she groaned aloud. Well, that answered that question of how he'd gotten past the front door's two dead bolts and the chain.

"There goes my security deposit."

From her position by the table, she could see Steve throw a grimace and an apologetic look her way, but for the moment she settled for just shutting the window and shuffling off again. Grabbing a pillowcase from the hall closet, she swept her findings into it, before moving back into the living room and towards the coffee table. Every little weapon Steve had found was compiled in the pillowcase, which she then put out of sight in the bedroom.

Coming back to the men, she paused on the edge of the room and heard Bucky mumble, "Holy hell. My skull is splitting open."

Steve nodded, having backed away to give the guy some breathing room. "You did take a vibranium shield to the head. It's not surprising."

"And a bat to the gut, twice," Bucky remarked drily, tossing a half-formed smirk over his shoulder at the woman. Holly blinked, a little chagrined, but she took that as her cue to act. Leaving them in silence for a minute or two, in which both men were taking a good measure of one another, she returned, a cup of water and a couple tabs of medicine in hand.

"Aspirin," she said by way of explanation, laying all out of the coffee table in front of him. Trying to keep as much distance as possible between them, she withdrew quickly, adding, "Though I don't think it'll help you much. Since it doesn't normally work all that well for him."

Her thumb hooked at the captain, who had been standing behind the armchair and watching everything tentatively. Slowly, Bucky leaned forward, brushing his hair out of his eyes and grabbing the water. There was nothing to suggest the woman was a poisoner, but he still sniffed the liquid and tested it to be sure. Satisfied, he gave the medicine a cursory glance before washing them down.

"You got a mean swing," he murmured quietly, taking another sip of water and wincing.

Her nod was clipped, her lips thinning. "Been practicing. A lot."

A minute or two passed, with the standing pair looking on as the seated fellow finished the last of his water. In that time, he had been collecting his thoughts, his metal hand kneading the couch cushion beside him. Turning his attention back to Steve, he started, "Look, I wasn't...I wasn't trying to attack you."

Holly scoffed, hands on hips. "Could've fooled me."

"Holl," Steve cut her off, a warning note in his tone.

Testily, she shot back, "What?"

"Not helping."

"Neither was he," she maintained petulantly. It was a point the captain was not going to acknowledge, as it would serve no purpose, but she wasn't as willing as he to let it go. Bucky could tell that much from her rigid posture, red face, and hard look in her eyes. The captain matched her in stance and gaze, but he was far from her state of fiery fury. Unwilling to risk a spat at such a crucial time, Bucky cut in again.

"I was...I needed, I need, to talk to you," he said, making his request in a low voice. A pause followed, in which the pair appeared to be silently communicating about what he'd asked. Steve, cutting his eyes towards the hall, said nothing, but Holly read his intent. Blowing out a puff of air, she let her shoulders slump a little in defeat.

"Okay, fine. I'll go...but if you get in trouble again..." she trailed off, her expression a mix of concern and stiffness. Steve shook his head, indicating his belief that it would be alright. With no more to say or object to, Holly padded over to him, raising herself a little to press a kiss to his cheek. He bent his head, accepting it gracefully, his eyes tracking her with warmth as she thumped down the hall and pointedly shut the bedroom door tightly behind her.

Somewhere, in the black recesses of his memory, Bucky could feel a twinge of surprise. _Stevie's got a girl, really got a girl. Wow._

He was brought back to the present moment when "Stevie" discreetly rolled his eyes at the other man's look. Moving around the armchair, he pulled it forward a little, angling it so that when he sat down he would be looking directly at his attacker, his foe...his friend.

"Yes?"

As he set down his cup, floods of darkness threatened to swamp the would-be assassin. Bits and pieces of the months filtered in and out of his mind, countries he'd been to, battlefields that he knew he'd been at but couldn't recall. A fallen factory where he'd been held prisoner, a frozen river that flowed easily and coldly in the summer light. Comrades, men he'd known, worked with, admired...his best friend, seated across from him, a terrible enemy, a mission. A mission he could not complete.

It was a long time before he could speak.

"If there was a way to sum up over fifty years of blankness and misery, I would do it, but I can't...I can't even think about it. I've done nothing but eat, sleep, and kill for as long as I can remember. It never had to be any other way; I existed, served, and when it was done I would go back into oblivion. I didn't have to think, really, or even remember anything. No identity, no name, just an asset," he spat, the foulness of HYDRA spilling into his words. Visibly shaking them off, he focused again on the blonde man across from him, listening carefully to everything. "But then you came along. Came back, whatever. You called me Bucky. I knew you. I still know you, who you were. We were...we were friends."

"Best friends," Steve nearly whispered, a wealth of loss and pain in his controlled voice. Bucky nodded, albeit slowly. His headache was threatening to become worse.

"Because of you, I started to remember what came before. I've been trying to piece it all together, all the fragments that were buried deep down. Playing ball in the street, nights at the dance hall, that fat kid on Delancey who tried to beat the tar out of me all through sixth grade," he replied, snickering a little at the memory of the pudgy-faced jerk who socked him one on a daily basis. Stevie didn't let that go on for too long, but after he'd gotten laid out, Bucky learned to keep the fights a secret as much as possible. He had to protect him; somebody had to, back then.

"I know my name, I know where I came from, but there are pieces still missing, things that I can't recall. A big, gaping hole between where I fell and how I came back. And I know there are things that are better left forgotten. But I can't let it lie. I've been looking for answers, trying to do more than just exist. I'm not an idiot. I know you were following me, that someone told you what happened to me. I want to know who. I deserve to know what you're holding back."

Coldness slid down through Steve's stomach, the pictures and words of the Kiev file ripping to the front of his mind. Before he could agree to anything, though, he still had some questions of his own.

"I was looking for you, to, to..." he trailed off, unsure of how to finish that sentence. A lump formed in his throat, and he had to swallow it down. Instead, he changed tack. "But you were pretty clear that you wanted nothing to do with me then. So why now, and why here?"

Bucky shrugged, the movement stiff. "If you're looking for an easy answer, I don't have one to give. After they...after those bastards messed with my mind, I had to try to figure it all out. I had to do it on my own. It had to be just me. But I knew you'd be coming after me, I knew that...but I couldn't let you help. Not then."

Casting another glance over his shoulder, he grimaced before getting through the next part.

"But now, with things heating up all over the place, I couldn't keep shutting everything out. I had to get to you. And you're not easy to pin down; I've tried. With superheros on one end, and a flying soldier on the other, it's hard to get anywhere near you. She," he said, waving a hand in the direction that Holly had gone, "was easier to track. She would be easier to get to."

All at once, the plan that had formulated in Bucky's mind had become incredibly obvious to Steve. He would've gotten to Holly, waiting for the right time to get her alone while he was nearby to force a meeting, a parlay. It would have been a worse situation for all involved; Steve would have been righteously outraged, Bucky wouldn't cooperate under pressure, and Holly would refuse to step into something she would most likely see as a cliché damsel-in-distress role, earning her worse treatment by far.

"But a better opportunity presented itself," Steve said, noting how Bucky's face looked a little remorseful at the thought process. He wouldn't necessarily apologize, as it was a means to an end, but he knew that what he'd done had shaken him.

Exhaling, the other man murmured, "You have no reason to believe me, but I really had no intention of hurting either of you."

The honesty in his expression was purely James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier pushed to the background. All he wanted, truly wanted, were answers. All he was asking for was a chance to mend what he could of the lost past. And if Steve held any lingering doubt over what to do, the next words out of his old friend's mouth decided it for him.

"Please, Steve."

* * *

**A/N:** Part one of a double update today! Gee, guess who had to split a chapter again? :-P

Yes, Bucky's trying to figure himself out, and now he actually needs help. Damn, the poor guy is so messed up. Damn you, HYDRA! (I'm shaking my fist at the sky, which you can't see.)

I don't anything from the MCU, including _ CA:TWS_. I also don't own the brief reference to _Captain America: Super Soldier._ (Where Bucky mentions the kid off Delancey who beat him up. I've only seen the cutscenes, but GAH, I want that game so bad!)

Alright, onto the next chapter! Thanks for reading, and please review!


	27. Chapter 27

Holly genuinely tried to stay awake, ear pressed to the door in a vain attempt to eavesdrop (all under the guise of making sure they were just talking, in case she had to run out with the bat again). But what adrenaline she had summoned in her efforts to help protect Steve had slipped away, and she soon found herself falling asleep again. However, she was swiftly woken by the door thumping against her shoulder.

"Ouch," she grumbled, blinking against the blare of the overhead light. A pair of arms scooped her up, and tiredly she allowed Steve to set her on her feet. Before she could ask what had been decided, he told her to that he had to go back home for a little while. In an hour, he wanted her to drive out to the wayside park, the one where she had found him all those months ago.

And she wouldn't be driving there alone. Bucky, he said, would ride with her there. Her protests, all done in hushed voice and sharp tone, were cut off by the pleading look in Steve's eyes.

"Please, Holly. I need you to do this for me," he said, laying his hands on her shoulders. In that early morning hour, she could see a spark of hope, his want for her aid. Asking the favor was no sinecure, and he understood how much he was asking of her.

Searching his face for another moment or two, she allowed her chin to dip in agreement. Steve's hands moved from her shoulders to her head, drawing her in for one hard, deep kiss before he scurried off, changing and grabbing his shield as he headed out the door.

In that hour, the two left behind avoided each other, with Holly staying in the bedroom and Bucky remaining rooted to the living room couch, as far as she knew. Minimal contact was best, she surmised, no matter how much she wanted to know what had gone down.

Over the past months, Steve had told her about his past, about his mother and father, his turbulent childhood, and inevitably about Bucky. Inside the man was a great capacity for compassion, kindness, and a brotherly love for his friend. However, the good didn't entirely negate the bad, not in her mind. After all, Steve himself had told her that he could do her great harm, that he had done many terrible things over the last several decades, none the wiser for it. If he wanted, he could kill her, just because he could.

Still, there must have been something redeemable within him. Otherwise, she couldn't see why Steve would bother continuing to get his friend back.

Her phone beeped, a text from Steve telling her it was time to go. Pulling on a sweatshirt (too lazy to put on a bra at that hour, and not giving a damn about it), she noted the darkness outside was starting to ease a little. Sunrise would only be an hour or two away, she'd thought, pocketing her keys and grabbing the bat. Exchanging her sleep shorts for her jeans, she meandered out again, sidestepping into the kitchen for a moment when she spotted Bucky idly rubbing his hand where she'd hit him.

"It's time to go," she called, alerting him to her presence. When she came out, she watched as he stood up, his blue eyes raking over suspiciously. She proffered a peace offering, pressing it into his grasp. "Here. An ice pack. It'll help."

Without further ado, they disembarked from the apartment, his pillowcase of equipment in one hand (part of her wished Steve had kept that hidden) and ice pack in the other, hissing as the cold came in contact with his bruises along his side. The chill of the morning, the crispness of autumn, barely made a blip on Holly's radar. She wanted to get this done.

After a couple of minutes of her silent driving and his hard staring, she felt like she was about ready to jump out of the car and get it all over with that way.

"What are you looking at?" she snapped, regretting her harsh tone the second the words came out. Bucky shook his head, not affected in the least.

"You," he stated plainly. His gaze slid over her, finding her little changed since the spring. Her brown hair was a little shorter, and her arms seemed a little stronger (had to be, with how hard the baseball bat connected with his body), but otherwise she appeared to be the same random girl he'd crossed paths with back then. Well, except for her attitude; she was less astonished, and slightly more hostile, this time. "You did as I asked."

Blinking, Holly couldn't answer right away; she didn't think he'd bring up the day of the helicarrier disaster, not with her. "Yeah. I wasn't given too much of an option."

"Still, you did it," Bucky pointed out, raking a hand through his cropped hair. He was gratified to see that panic had not stopped her from saving a life. From saving his friend, when he couldn't. Suddenly imbued with a bit of cheek, he added, "And stuck around, apparently."

The flash of a look she shot him said all that was needed to say: _Who wouldn't?_

As she negotiated a left turn, he continued his examination of the girl, the one he had commanded to get help in March. With two separate identities occupying the single space of his mind, both of them had agreed that she was better than no one in assisting Steve. Perhaps, he mused, it was pure luck or chance that brought her there, but if this was the girl his friend was keen on, then maybe he'd done more good than he thought that day.

Perhaps he was still capable of doing good.

"HYDRA's not too far behind me. They'll be coming," he said, catching sight of the blood draining out of her face. It was a warning shot, one he had to make; it could save her life if he did so. Her jaw tightened, but she had no response. "They might come for you."

The whiteness around her knuckles grew, and she had to swallow a few times before she could answer him.

"Yes," Holly gasped, trying to keep her nerves from getting the better of her. "I know that."

The grin she adopted was forced, but she was doing her best at keeping her head.

"We're working on that. You kinda tipped us off on that by tailing me, so thanks."

A clawing of feeling dug at him, a sort of guilt he hadn't felt in years.

"Sorry," Bucky apologized softly, directing his gaze out the windshield. "For...for all of this."

An apology would not do much by the way of mending broken bridges, but it could be a start. If she accepted it. In the quiet that came after his profession, he didn't know if she would accept it at all.

Holly sighed deeply, taking her time at a stop sign before pressing the gas.

"Just..." she replied, not daring to glance in his direction, "please don't do it again. I can't afford to keep replacing windows after this."

**xXxXxXx**

Sam had been struck dumb when Steve came clattering into the house at 4 AM, the swift movements of a determined man on a mission rousing him from upstairs. Any quips about his finally staying over at his girlfriend's home were stopped when he saw what he was extracting from the hiding spot beneath the old record player. The Kiev file. In a rush, he was told that his idea of wait and see had worked, with Bucky tracking him down and coming to Steve just as Sam had predicted he would.

There wasn't much he could do but gape when he was told that. But when Steve had confessed his plans of giving the papers over to Bucky, Sam raised a couple of objections.

"From a rehabilitative standpoint, it's a mighty big risk to hand over everything right away. It could set him back," he counseled as Steve began to put the papers into an old messenger bag, along with a few other odds and ends. "And how can you be sure he's being honest? He hasn't exactly been before."

The words hung between them, a ghostly reminder of that dark time when SHIELD ruptured and all around them enemies waited. When Bucky lurked in the shadows, ready to complete his mission whatever the cost. Who was to say he wasn't doing that now? He had led them a merry dance across half of Europe and along the East Coast, after all. If it was just a ploy to get Steve out in the open and defenseless, it would be a fatal mistake on all their parts to agree.

Steve's baleful glance met his, the shared horror bouncing between them. "I'm sure, Sam."

The absolute faith in the statement, depending on the viewpoint, was incredibly bold or overly naïve, and Sam wasn't sure which to favor. All he knew was that if Steve insisted on giving over everything, he would be there to make sure he didn't give over himself.

Insisting on coming out with him, Sam quickly changed and grabbed his car keys. Taking the SUV, the resulting drive was deathly silent, with Sam tightly gripping the steering wheel and Steve gazing pensively out the window. A short while later, they pulled into the parking lot of the wayside. Getting out of the vehicle, they crossed the grasses to a picnic table, stationed under the rustling canopy of the trees. Sam sat down, lacing his fingers together and resting his hands on the top, while Steve stood off to one side, waiting and watching the distant headlights pass by on the road.

Eventually, one pair of headlights turned onto the tarred road, and Sam believed he could recognize the model from his seat. An exasperated breath flew from his mouth, followed up by a sharper one when the passengers of the car exited and came towards them. Knowing who had definitely driven the second car, he wondered how Holly could do as Steve asked so easily.

Though, going by the mulish set of her jaw, and Steve's uncomfortable glance away, he could see that it might not have been all that easy. Keeping her distance from both assassin and hero, she moved away, choosing not to witness the reunion. Her feet plodded along the dirt path towards the river, the tacit turn of her head inviting Sam to come with if he wished. Minutely, he shook his head, choosing to stay put.

It was a little amusing to see the guy who had caused him and Steve so much trouble nursing an ice pack and carrying a girly pillowcase. It went a little way of cooling him down.

His eyes didn't waver, eyeing the stand-off between the remaining men warily. The sky was getting lighter, and soon enough they wouldn't be the only occupants of the park. Whatever Steve had decided, it would be best for him to engage soon.

Seventy years stood there, blank and lost between them. The hurt and the pain one inflicted on the other hovered, but there was also hope, and the promise of the truth. Blue eyes reflected on one another, the river washing at the bank the only sound for some time.

Gently, the messenger bag Steve had slung over his shoulder was pulled off, and he handed over it with aplomb. Looking as though he feared a trap, Bucky placed his pillowcase on the ground, taking the offered bag with shaking fingers. He had no idea that an artificial metal arm could tremble.

"Thank you," the words held a humble note, and the man looked grateful and fearful at the prospect of what laid within the bag. The files had gone in, along with a few crumpled twenties, an old mess kit, and the baseball card Steve had collected back from the tenement in June. A couple of clean shirt rested at the bottom as well. Dropping down, he tucked the ice pack in, and his tools of his trade were pulled out of the pillowcase and stuffed into various other pockets. The last thing out of the case, a ratty sweatshirt, was put on before he chose to sling the bag's strap across his body, resting it along the opposite hip.

Now, he looked less like a dangerous fugitive and more like a dirty hitchhiker. Odds were more in his favor that way. The ex-HYDRA assassin took one or two steps back, as if to give himself a head start.

"You're taking off?" Steve asked, his voice cool. Knowing this was Bucky's objective, it didn't quite take away the sting of his willful removal.

"Like I said, things are heating up all over. Best for me to do this out of sight," he commented, sparing a glance in Sam's direction. He found himself nodding at the other man, understanding that world was definitely becoming a bit crazier, and if he'd had another choice, he would try to get away from it, too.

Steve, looking skyward briefly, closed the gap between them and clapped his hand on Bucky's shoulder. "Well, if you ever need it, you'll have a place here, Buck."

The other fellow had to have been shocked by the level of sincerity in the captain's voice. His own response was solemn, and hushed. "To the end of the line."

In the growing light of the coming day, Sam could see the glimmer of a smile playing along Steve's lips.

"Always."

That said, the Winter Soldier turned his back on them both, slipping away through the underbrush as easily as he had in March. Invisible to the pair, Steve and Sam stayed suspended in the moment, letting the air stay undisturbed for another long moment.

"Think he'll come back?" Sam asked, standing up from his seat and crossing over to his friend. Steve cut his gaze over to him, his right hand digging deep in his pants pocket.

"If he does, you'll be the first to know," he replied, handing over a thin piece of metal. Rotating it in his hand, Sam was not surprised to see the Stark Industries brand on the smooth covering. However, he was a little shocked to find the metal had pulled back to reveal a digital readout of the path of a receiver. There was a programmed number in it, labeled "James Barnes."

Off Sam's inquisitive expression, Steve shrugged. "It's a telephone, of sorts. It has a secure untraceable line between both receivers. I put the other in his bag, in case he ever needs to get in touch."

"But why give it to me?" Sam wondered.

"If he ever needs help, and I can't get to him, I hope you'll be the one to answer the call."

He trusted Sam to make the call, to do right by his old friend. He trusted him to know the difference between the guy who needed to be saved, and the one who should be stopped. There wasn't another word to be said, and Sam could force himself to speak. With a half-grin, Steve clapped him on the back, pivoting on his heel towards the river path.

And along one side of the device, Sam noticed an open jack, causing his mind to turn over the possibilities of the device's functions. "Answering that call might not be easy."

"Consider it making up for the fact that I'll have to compensate Tony out of pocket for your drinking his scotch," Steve remarked, his injected levity causing Sam to groan loudly.

Plowing through the brush, he clambered cautiously down the bank towards the young woman seated in the dirt. The cool autumn breeze stirred her hair, and she shivered as she kept an eye on the brightening day. Smears of color were coming along the horizon, reminding Steve of a watercolor palette as he stopped to look himself. Turning his eyes back, he met her tired brown gaze, the events of the night weighing on her mind. Getting to her feet, she stumbled towards him. Holly didn't hesitate, moving into his path and curling her arms around him. One arm pulled her in close, and his free hand went into her tousled hair. Inhaling deeply, he held her close, peace settling over him.

"Well," she piped up after a moment. "Looks like I was right about being followed."

He snorted, closing his eyes and savoring the feel of her body against his. "No kidding."

When a few minutes passed, he felt a tug on his shirt. Looking down, he allowed the young woman in his arms to pull away, instead taking his hand and drawing him with her along the path. There would be time to think about Bucky, about what had happened, and all the small details. It would be best to do it at home.

A strange glint reflected in her eye, and she couldn't quite hold back a wry grin. "By the way, you're calling my landlord about my window."

Dropping his head, he grumbled dramatically.

"Damn," he muttered, casting a last glance towards Sam as he waved good-bye, and towards the trees beyond, the curiosity of his friend's return something that would not be far from his mind.

* * *

**A/N:** Part two of a double update! I had to split the chapter…again. I kept plugging away, and before I knew it, boom! Time to break that bad boy up. So if you missed the last one, just click real quick!

Yes, I let Bucky go again. At this point in time, he's still a little too messed up to be inducted into the halls of the Avengers, but…hey, we'll see where the future takes us. Again, just because he leaves doesn't mean he's gone for good.

Yes, Sam made a return…I know I was missing him (along with several of you, too). There was no way he was going miss that last exchange. He does what Steve does, remember…just slower. ;)

I don't anything from the MCU, including references to _CA:TWS_.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next chapter!


	28. Chapter 28

Within four days, the new security system for the apartment was installed. Stark had come down himself to model off options (and to get a close look at the captain's girl). He was at least polite, if not occasionally snarky about her apartment size. Coming down from her initial shock of having the infamous Tony Stark in her home, Holly was able to listen to his suggestions without inwardly freaking out. Not too much; after all, she'd come a long way in seven months, when her world was flipped upside down and superior beings came almost literally crashing into her life. Besides, with Steve around and mentioning his teammates on several occasions, she was able to feel like she was getting to know them. It was a secondhand knowing, but if it allowed her to speak with Tony seriously and not wig out that the tech genius billionaire was sitting in her living room and drinking her coffee, then she'd take it as is.

A grouping of concentrated disks implanted by the front door and key windows would go directly into a video feed, easily accessed by Holly's phone. As well as that, it could forward alerts to Steve's devices, so he could respond as swiftly as he could.

"Android, oh my God," he muttered derisively as Holly handed over her device so Tony could integrate his programming. Her eyebrows quirked together, and before she could stop herself, she snorted.

"Tech snob."

Tony's dark eyes met her gaze, something deep within twisting in humor. "Well, yeah. I do have the best stuff on the market."

"Yeah, but buying this phone allowed me to afford health insurance afterward."

He rolled his eyes, tapping at the screen intently. "Stark tech is not that expensive."

Steve, from his position next to Holly, shot him a deadpan look. "Even I know that's not true, Stark. Come on."

She wasn't surprised that the relationship between both Steve and him was, at minimum, tempestuous. They'd shared one or two jibes just upon Stark's entering the premises (at least he'd forgone the baseball cap disguise everyone else favored, relying on a beanie for his cover along with aviator glasses. Though pulling up in a Maserati destroyed the secrecy, in a way). For all intents and purposes, though, they were working towards a common goal, so the snaps at one another were at a low ebb.

JARVIS now tapped in throughout Holly's apartment. He would be ready to sound the alarm—and identify the intruder—within seconds of entry. The system would also be able to target the weaknesses. For a nominal fee, Tony offered to throw electrodes into the floor to paralyze an attacker's legs with the correct command, and automatic door locks, but Holly had flat-out refused. Odds were she'd end up electrocuting herself that way, if not one of her friends, simply for mistepping.

Besides, her landlord Mr. Taylor had drawn the line on that score. Security, yes, that was alright, but there was already one damaged window coming out of the deposit. And the additional locks that had been mounted the previous month added into that cost, as well. The fellow shuddered at the idea of Tony Stark ripping up the floors for the sake of just being able to do so, no matter how intriguing the idea was. As least, that was the gist of what Steve told her via phone call with the guy (holding the phone away from his ear and wincing when Taylor developed a new and creative string of curses). One more "addition," and he'd find a way to end her lease, she was sure. After all, he'd groused to a not-so-pleased Steve, if she was so worried about security then _she _should be looking elsewhere to properly accommodate her needs.

"Well, that was unpleasant," Steve mumbled, hanging up the phone with alacrity. Holly nodded, tipping her head to the side.

"Why do you think I bucked the call to you?" she told him, giving his cheek a quick peck as an apology.

"Maybe we should throw some electrodes in to help loosen the stick up his ass," Tony had remarked.

"Oh no, you couldn't. Then he'd lose his closest companion," she replied drily, earning a smirk and nod of agreement for her effort. If she wasn't making friends outright with the team, she was doing well enough to prove she wasn't an enemy.

Still, it was with the upsurge in security that reminded Holly of the source, of the past. For three months, a thought and an idea had been nagging at the back of her mind, festering deep down. As she grew closer and closer to Steve, the echoes of the thoughts grew louder and louder. As her heart began to assume greater control, she could not keep pushing it away.

After all, it wasn't like she could forget about the existence of Peggy Carter.

Once, back in April, Steve had shown her the compass he'd always kept on his person, and naturally she inquired about the beautiful woman whose photograph was within. It was an innocent question, but from the way Steve had tensed up, there wasn't a simple answer. He'd called her Peg, claimed she was an agent from the SSR, the first to give him the time of day and not treat him like an inferior due to his size, beside Professor Erskine. Clearly, it was more than that; she knew she would never hang on to a picture of someone if there wasn't a more significant meaning to it. And it was; he'd confirmed that he'd cared for Peggy, back then. In April, it was something she didn't mind being told.

It was something that she could have, should have, put out of her mind. But she couldn't forget the name, couldn't disregard it. After she and Steve started dating, the little kernel of knowledge remained, sitting in the dark and overshadowed by her happiness.

She knew it was completely bad form to wonder about a boyfriend's past romantic attachments, but the circumstances around the idea were entirely different than what she could claim as "normal." Something compelled her to know more about Peggy Carter, and thus she began her search for information. Holly literally could not stop herself; the curiosity would kill her.

The woman was nothing short of amazing: spy, government agent, a former director and founder of SHIELD, a member of the Strategic Scientific Reserve…the track record was incredible. Clever, deadly, ambitious, and beautiful were among the first adjectives that filtered through Holly's mind as she pulled up website pages dedicated to heroes in the world of espionage and empowering female game-changers. Carter had been there, through Steve's procedure until his end, and she continued to go above and beyond the call of duty for her adopted country.

A little snake hissed in the back of her mind, wondering how Steve could possibly let such a woman go, even at this stage of both their lives. Especially as Agent Carter was still alive.

It had taken her until the middle of October to work up her nerve to actively find the retired agent. She told no one of her resolve, knowing they would cite her as crazy for even thinking of it. And she particularly couldn't tell Steve. Not right away. He would be angry enough once he learned that she'd discovered her address and telephone number in his personal book (he was one of the few who still kept an address book, even if the entries were few and far between). That hadn't been an easy job; she'd had to wait until he was firmly preoccupied with some minor arguing out of the room with Sam before she could ferret out the information.

Of course, she had misgivings about pursuing a meeting with Carter. There was an entire can of worms she'd be opening and dumping out for all to see, but she just couldn't let it go. It was driving her beyond reason. And she couldn't entirely blame it on her menses, fast approaching and an easy excuse for being off-kilter during those days.

Manufacturing a reason to arrange a meeting at the nursing home, she claimed to be student writing an English paper for her college course on the history of female spies, and that she wanted to conduct an interview with the ex-agent. Once it was agreed upon, she set off in the afternoon of October 11th, well before Steve was due to arrive back from another New York sojourn. She'd left her coffee table littered with papers, the address written carefully before she transferred it into her phone's GPS. There had been little difficulty finding the place across town, in a peaceful part of the neighborhood. The outside was painted butter yellow, white shutters on the windows, the exterior a bit at odds with the automatic doors and up-to-date front desk accoutrements she'd seen as she entered. As a nurse dressed maroon scrubs brought her back, the smell of antiseptic and cleaning supplies hit her hard. Nearly choking on the fumes, Holly could not devote the time to memorize the path through the home's halls. The sign outside the door was labeled, "Margaret Pinkerton." Evidently, she was the only resident in the room.

"If you need any aid, call the front desk immediately," the nurse murmured, directing her first to the hand sanitizer dispenser along the far wall. There was much she could do but nod in assent.

Quietly, she knocked on the door, smiling her thanks to the nurse as she heard the command to enter.

"Margaret Carter? Ms. Carter?" she queried, coming around the door and closely it gently. Looking upon the figure in the bed, she shouldn't have been so taken aback. The beauty from the compass photograph had changed, morphed by age and time. Numerous wrinkles decorated the agent's face, her white hair framing her delicately. Her eyes, though, were another matter. They flashed and examined Holly from her position by the door, having lost none of their potency over the years. A shade or two darker than her own, they were unfathomable.

Donning a small grin, the elderly woman gestured lightly with a couple fingers. "Or Missus Pinkerton, Agent, Director, whatever suits the situation the best."

The nonchalant tone did not impede her voice, slightly rumbling and the English accent still present even after decades of living stateside.

"I'm Holly Martin," she nearly whispered, taking a few hesitant steps forward. The many unnamed, conflicting feelings roiling through her at the moment kept her on her toes, and she was afraid of what would surface first. "Sorry to bother you."

"Can't be much of a bother to an old, bedridden woman. Come in," Ms. Carter said, inclining her head towards the visitor's chair opposite her by the window. As she settled into the seat and placed her bag on the floor beside her, she found the scrutinizing gaze focusing more intently on her. "So, who do you work for?"

Holly's head snapped up, completely losing her alibi in that moment. "E-excuse me?"

"Is it a newspaper, federal agency, or," here Ms. Carter paused, grimacing briefly, "God forbid, are you part of a documentary crew?"

"No, no, none of those things. I mean, I am a writer, but—"

"Ah, a biographer, that's right. Haven't seen one of those in awhile. Well, I've already submitted quotes for a Mister Hammond, you can find his book in stores."

Holly grinned a little; her copy of the book in question was still on her coffee table at home. Having been retrieved from its hiding place beneath her mattress, she studied a little of it that morning.

"Already have it, read some of it. No, I've stopped by because, well...it's kinda complicated."

"I'm quite familiar with the complicated, Miss Martin."

A familiar gleam filled her gaze, inviting her to conspire with a compatriot. Holly suddenly understood that therein lay her power; just her innate charm was enough to bring her onto her side. If she'd had state secrets, she'd probably spill them.

And this was Agent Carter at_ ninety-three_, for God's sake, she realized in fascination. One could only imagine how downright smooth she would have been as a young lady. Her mind boggled at all the implications.

"Agent Carter," Holly attempted to find her tongue.

"So formal. You may call me Peggy, if you like, dear. Standing on formality is hardly required around here," the older woman cut in, smiling and shaking her head to herself. "Though I have been called Queen Victoria before."

Resting her head in her hands, Holly drew in a few deep breaths. Now that she was there, seated before this woman, her mind was a total blank. Reading facts, hearing stories, it wasn't enough for her. Wanting to meet Peggy Carter had driven her so hard, but when the moment arrived, her arsenal had run dry.

"I'll be honest with you, Peggy. My reason for coming here is a ruse," she confessed slowly, glancing up to find her listener's face was still creased in polite interest. "I'm not writing a paper, or anything of that nature. I...I just wanted to meet you."

Peggy's mouth turned up at the corners, as if to say, _'Well, obviously.'_

"It's the weird, convoluted six degrees of separation that brought me here," she explained, forcing herself to keep eye contact. "I...know Steve."

For a few moments, Peggy's eyes became unfocused, her expression becoming distant. If there was ever a time for her to be thrown out, it would have been then. Before panic could set in, she watched as the older woman gestured towards the pile of newspapers by her bed, her gaze bright and alert once more. Off her cue, Holly picked them up, paging through the collected articles of Steve's return to the Avengers, his supposed actions in Europe, and lastly, his doings on the 4th of July several months' past. At the forefront was one of the photographs of Holly on the captain's arm, face identifiable despite the grainy quality.

"So I read. Informative, those, or rather uninformative, depending who the reporter is."

The younger woman's face flushed red, and she just barely resisted the urge to hide it in her hands again.

"It took me a moment to place the face, but I recognize you now. Right now, at least," Peggy said, her curled fingers lacing together. The confusion that graced Holly's face compelled her to continue. "Did they not tell you why I'm here?"

Holly laid the papers aside, replying in the negative. "I assumed doctor-patient confidentiality on that."

Peggy's smile became bitter, her index finger tapping her temple. "Memories. I make them, and I lose them. More loss nowadays, but we're working on it. Truthfully, I have my good days, and my bad days."

Nodding at the articles, wistfulness took her over.

"With Steve's return, my family," she pointed to the framed pictures on her bedside table, "has taken it upon themselves to keep me informed about him, or who is appearing around him. As reminders, or triggers to help me out on the bad days. Those with you, specifically, I caught those on a good day."

At that moment, there was nothing else that Holly wished for more than to sink into the floor.

"Look, I didn't come here to break up your day, or wreck it, or—"

"On the contrary, Miss Martin, you're here for illumination," Peggy exclaimed, the bitterness set aside as Holly dipped her chin once.

"Yes. Well, of a sort."

Peggy did not speak, instead she chose to let the other woman say her piece.

"You're such an amazing woman, Ms. Carter. I've read a little about you, and your record is...quite a stand-out one. And what little I can infer from Steve, he clearly shared that opinion. Probably still does, even after two years of adjusting from the ice."

Her breath became shaky, and for a moment she felt the pity sent in her direction.

"When I found out you were still in the area, I wanted to see you as soon as I could. I suppose I came to figure out...am I...am I intruding on, what I mean is..." she trailed off, the words stumbling out of her mouth, "I know he still cares for you."

Peggy nodded, her dark gaze pensive. "As I do him. Part of my heart will always be his. But dear, it was a long time ago. I've made my peace with it."

To Holly's shame, tears began to filter in, though she refused to give in. "But if I'm stopping him, even if he doesn't realize it...if I'm stopping you...I have to know if that's the case, before more time goes by."

The stern, listen-here-now voice came out then, and Holly could not compel herself to do more than pay attention.

"From what, pray tell, would you be impeding either of us? At this point in my life, I have no reason to be stepping out with another man, and moreover, Steve would not ask for it," Peggy stated brusquely. "If you haven't noticed, I'm quite a bit older than I was in the forties."

"So is he, technically." Holly couldn't keep her mouth shut, and she cursed herself for it seconds after it came out of her mouth.

"Perhaps, but he still is a young man, for all that," the older woman said, fingers tugging her blankets in agitation. "Mentally, emotionally, he's years behind what he should be. He has his own life to live, one that doesn't need to be hampered by an old woman who has already done her share of living. Frankly, I've had enough of young men. Very time consuming, and I would know; I married one, raised another, and worked with far too many of them."

Life experience haunted her demeanor, though she carried it with grace. Holding out a hand, she waited until Holly's tentative fingers gripped hers.

"And whatever he's looking for in this life now, I cannot provide it for him." Conspiratorially, she leaned forward, her grin gentle and her eyes sad. "It is quite possible, you know, to love someone and still let them go. Just as possible as it is to love more than one person."

They both were quiet, the clicking sounds of the radiator pumping heat into the room the only noise for a few seconds. Finding her courage once more, Holly posed another tremulous question.

"Do you think he could?"

Peggy squeezed her hand a little, the weathered skin contrasting sharply with the smooth in her grasp.

"That, Miss Martin, is something you'll have to find out from him," she intoned with one last pat of the fingers, an aura of confidence surrounding her. The tiny quirk of her lips strengthened, and Holly felt compelled to return it.

In her soul, something was assuaged, even if Holly couldn't exactly put her finger on what. The creeping doubt and fear, and yes, she'd admit it only to herself, jealousy, did not entirely vanish, but they lessened to a tolerable level. They were nearly nonexistent. The persistent, immovable rock in her heart was melting away.

What really broke her heart happened several minutes later, after Holly had returned from a bathroom break. "So, who are you, dear?"

Understanding dawned in that moment, Holly's stomach dropping. "I'm Holly, Peggy."

"Oh. Can I help you with anything?" she asked sweetly, the previous conversation wiped clean away. Perhaps she would recall bits and pieces of it, but inevitably the majority of it would be lost on her. Inhaling deeply, Holly managed to shove the panic and sorrow deep down.

"You already have," she choked out, gesturing wildly at the bathroom as an excuse. Nodding, Peggy turned her head towards the window, eyes flicking shut.

"Well, good then. If you don't mind, dear, I'm going to nap for a little while. Wake me in fifteen."

Gathering her bag, Holly gently patted her knee, promising to tell the nurse her request. Her feet felt like lumps of lead as she walked away. This was terrible, and she could only imagine Steve's pain when he first discovered this truth about his first girl. Meeting Peggy, while perhaps not the brightest idea, was not something she would ever regret, no matter how sadly it ended.

Closing the door behind her, she whispered one last time, "Thank you, Agent Carter."

**xXxXxXx**

Upon returning an hour or two later, Holly tapped at her phone to disarm the front door alarm before she ascended the stairs. JARVIS, the AI, seemed to have a current of fluster under his normally calm tone.

"The alarms are already disarmed, ma'am. You are aware of Captain Rogers' arrival, yes?"

Actually, no, she wasn't; she'd walked right by his motorcycle without even seeing it, so intent was she on getting inside. He'd come home early, much earlier than she'd anticipated, and with the spare key and access to the system, he could come and go freely. The sinking feeling returned to her gut, and heavily she trod down the hall.

"Thanks, JARVIS," she groaned, exiting the program before the AI could respond. Fingers curled around the doorknob, yielding and rendering key retrieval useless. Stepping inside quickly, she wondered if perhaps he'd gone straight to the bedroom, maybe to sleep off the drive.

As Holly's eyes met his irritated blue gaze, his arms crossed over his chest as he sat up straight in the armchair, she inwardly cursed her ill luck. Coming further into the room, she watched as he reached out towards one of the tidied piles of papers on the coffee table (his handiwork, as she'd left everything in disarray earlier and his training made him such a compulsive cleaner) and deliberately picked up one. The address to Peggy Carter's nursing home was printed in her neat handwriting, and he held it out, eyebrow quirking up questioningly.

"Oh...oh dear," Holly said, hand gripping her purse straps tightly. Caught, she was, well and truly caught. She definitely had some explaining to do. Without prompting, she placed her bag on the table, covering the biography she'd left there before, and seated herself on the couch. Steve's gaze didn't waver as he brought the sheet down, his expression holding a modicum of sadness within the sternness.

"I don't want to know 'how,'" he said, elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. He could already guess that; that wasn't the point of this confrontation. A twinge of pain in his voice caused her heart to twist. "What I want to know, is 'why.'"

The million dollar question, she thought. Holly cleared her throat, once, twice. "That's fair; I'd wonder why, too."

He said nothing to that, just waited as she collected her thoughts.

"Look, I know this looks strange, but to be honest, 'strange' is a relative term at this point, given all the other stuff that's going on at the moment. Although going looking for your current's ex, or former love interest, or what have you, still probably ranks high but...I mean, this was something I really felt couldn't sit. Not after some of your past literally broke into my home," she spilled out, looking anywhere but at Steve's face. "I needed to see. To understand what...what you left behind. And how I...how I could compare."

Because deep down, she was still wondering why, herself.

Why her? Why did he choose Holly Martin, when there was another?

Her insides were quaking, but she couldn't allow herself to stop.

"I, I just didn't want to be standing in your way. Peggy is one of legitimately two people in the world still alive from your past, and you rarely speak about her. I just couldn't shake it."

Taking a breath, Holly chided herself inwardly for rambling, yet again, but it was important to her. To get it all out.

"I just, I needed to know."

Steve's face remained stony, and silence reigned for a long while. He gaze he turned on her was bereft of the anger that had resided there, replaced by a deeper sorrow. Tears rose again, and she had to turn her head away, discreetly wiping a rogue one away.

Getting up from his seat, he walked over to the window, staring out as the sun began its descent, arriving earlier every day. For a moment, Holly could see the lost young man she'd met months ago, his profile shaded and his face clouded over with too many thoughts at once.

"It's...it's hard. Speaking of her, Holly," he said, tracing the glass with a fingertip. "I remember Peggy as she was, and it's painful to think of...of what could have been."

Sighing, he turned back to her, reaching out one hand. Slowly, she got to her feet, lacing her fingers with his and trying to swallow over the lump in her throat.

"It's been two years since I've woken up, and everything is still so different and new. It took me a long time to figure out exactly how much, to see what I'd given up and accepted my own choices," Steve murmured, his grip intensifying a little as he spoke. Scoffing at himself, he continued, "In a way, it was like I had died in '45. Everything around me had shifted, including her. She didn't put her life on hold, and she didn't deserve to do that to herself. Peg was happy."

Holly didn't realize she'd looked away until Steve's gentle fingers raised her chin, bringing her gaze up to meet his. The pad of his thumb stroked along her jaw, sliding along to tuck some of her hair behind her ear.

"She—and you—helped me realize that I didn't deserve it, either. I can't go back and change any of it, and what's happened since then...I don't want to alter that," his tone dropped lower, and she leaned in closer, his forehead meeting hers and resting there,"if altering it means losing you, too."

Biting her lip so hard she felt the skin break, Holly threw her arms around Steve's shoulders, embracing him as tightly as she could. Whatever prevented her from blubbering like a little baby, she would do it. The tang of blood touched her tongue, but her bottom lip wasn't bleeding heavily, and at the moment, she did not care at all about it.

"You're not in my way, Holl. You never have been."

A long time passed in which the pair just held each other, emotions too strong to even think clearly, let alone speak to one another.

Even though it was painful, and she knew she wasn't completely off the hook for what she'd done, Holly could not regret what she'd done that day.

* * *

**A/N:** Gah, I'm such a sap. And I own nothing from the MCU.

This was one of those chapters that dictated to me, and not I to it. Meaning Peggy Carter damn well wanted to be included, and Holly insisted as well, and good lord, there was no stopping it.

I am no doctor, and Peggy has been diagnosed (according to the MCU wiki) with Alzheimer's. Perhaps I found this too extreme, and horribly sad, so I sort of downgraded it a tad, so she still knows what's going on in the world, at least on a good day.

I know I'm leaving this chapter on a dramatic note right before a holiday, but still...this is how it wanted to come out.

I wish you all—at least my fellow American readers—a happy Independence Day weekend (happy early birthday, Cap). I will be celebrating the 4th with my family. Incidentally, my nephew now thinks _he_ is Captain America, and has his own shield. It's adorable.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all next time!


	29. Chapter 29

Of course, not everything can be settled that rapidly. Holly realized very quickly that Steve would ultimately still be unhappy with her after discovering her overt mission. Put frankly, she knew that his trust issues ran deep, and he could have considered what she'd done a subversion of his faith in her. That made her uneasy, though the rest of that evening was spent in his company, without further reprimand. They both seemed to make a conscious effort not to clutter up the air with more talking; she sure as hell had no idea what else to say, then. Holly could imagine he wouldn't, either.

Popping in a DVD for them to watch, she wondered if that was why film and television were invented: to distract people from their uncomfortable situations in life.

The tense set of his jaw, his stiff shoulders, were good physical reminders of Steve's displeasure, but he didn't release her hand for the duration of the film, a bad comedy that succeeded in getting them both to crack up a little. She only let go when she went to get some painkillers and chocolate, her tried-and-true method of combating her monthly pains. She'd had her fill of emotions earlier, and was glad to chase them off for a brief time.

The fact that he chose to spend the night back at the house, rather than with her, stung a bit, but she couldn't exactly stop him from doing so. And she wouldn't, anyway; he probably just wanted a chance to clear his head, even if it made her heart tighten a little.

As he stepped towards the front door, she sat on the arm of the couch, peering over his head. Her arms crossed over her chest, her position a little defensive. Holly had spent too much of the day being weepy and emotional; she was determined to be strong in the face of her goof. "G'night."

Expecting him to walk out the door, she was surprised to find Steve backtracking, his hand cupping her chin and his lips firmly kissing hers in farewell. Her confusion must have been evident on her face, because he shook his head slightly and shot her a sad grin upon seeing it. With one more chaste peck, Steve tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear before turning on his heel.

"Good night, Holl."

Once the door shut behind him, Holly sighed, rubbing at the mild ache in her back and knowing full well that her only bed companion would be the heating pad.

"Well done, Martin, well done," she grumbled, the hot pain making her hiss and walk to bed partly hunched.

**xXxXxXx**

"You're up early."

The voice in the dark caught Sam unawares, and he jumped a little in reaction. Seconds after he realized who had spoken, he shook his head and flicked on the overhead light. The captain was there, dressed in his street clothes, somehow more coherent at that hour than Sam ever had been, even when he was in basic training.

"I'm barely up at all," he groused, making a beeline for the half full coffee pot. "Morning, Steve."

Steve lifted his mug in greeting, attempting a grin, but it fell flat. He was seated at the table, half-turned towards the window. He'd been awake for around an hour, watching the sky lighten for the coming day and thinking.

"I'm surprised to see you here," Sam commented quietly, taking out a mug for himself. Mornings after Steve had returned from New York, he rarely could be found in the house, let alone settled in with coffee and lack of sleep apparent in his face. Something must have happened, though he couldn't imagine what. Not that either party was perfect, fighting didn't often happen between him and Holly. Playful jibes at one another, sure, but those were the worst that he'd witnessed.

"I do still live here, technically," Steve pointed out, the humor in his smirk not quite reaching his eyes. He still handed over checks towards the mortgage and the other bills, after all. Didn't want to freeload, and hadn't since he first moved in.

The other man nodded in concession, filling his cup to the brim and taking the seat opposite his friend at the table. "Technically, but in practice you've been all sorts of other places lately."

Steve shrugged one shoulder, tapping his fingers along the side of the mug and looking outside once more.

"Just needed to be here. Clear my head."

Silence fell on the pair, both of them stewing in their separate thoughts. Sam, for one, was hoping that whatever went down wasn't terribly serious. He'd had enough issues with Riley and his women troubles back in the day, and wading into another friend's potential relationship quagmire was unappealing to say the least. Swallowing another gulp of coffee, he tried to suppress a wince. Steve always made it way too strong. He was beginning to contemplate starting breakfast when Steve finally chose to speak again.

"Holly found Peggy."

Blankly, Sam stared at him, the name coming in from the haze of his memory. Off his lost expression, Steve sighed under his breath, fishing something out of his pocket. A silver compass clicked open in his hand, and he passed it off to his partner. Upon seeing the aged photograph inside, it clicked in Sam's mind. Oh, _that_ Peggy. Compass Peggy. Peggy-founder-of-SHIELD-Carter.

Clicking the instrument shut again, he passed it back along the table, mimicking Steve's earlier shrug. "I suppose she would find out about her, Peggy Carter was a pretty big deal—"

Steve cut him with a curt gesture, clapping up the compass and stashing it away again. "No, no. Not 'found out.' _Found._ She went out to meet her."

The tone in his voice caught Sam's attention. Oh, man.

"Oh. I'm guessing she didn't tell you about it beforehand."

The captain's lips thinned. "Not a word. Found the address on some paper in her living room."

Ah, there was the heart of the matter: Holly hadn't spoken up about the idea of a meeting. She'd left him in the dark. Sam leaned back in his chair, turning the thought over for a moment. Rehashing the evening wasn't exactly what he wanted to do, but he did make it clear that she had gone with decent intentions, implying that she was seeking Peggy's permission to keep seeing him in a way. Sam's eyebrows rose a little when his partner confessed that, a little stunned that she'd reached out with such intentions. Throughout his explanation, Steve's face remained grim, though he didn't look implacably furious. If he had to wager a guess, he'd say the guy just looked…perturbed. And coming from someone who had seen Captain America lose his composure, if ever so briefly, he could recognize the shift in emotion.

Though his mug had long since gone cold, Steve forced himself to swallows the dregs of it, the cold bitterness snapping him back to reality. Getting up, he moved back to the pot, emptying it and swishing it out with water from the tap. "So what's your take?"

Adrift in the sea of emotion was not something he was entirely comfortable with. Learning quickly as he was, relationships with a woman, any woman, still threw him for a curve. The previous evening had been spent pondering what he felt about it all, and so far the only summary he could come up with was this: it was upsetting, and he had thought he was done with the secrecy. Perhaps Sam could provide some insight, in case he missed something.

Considering the question, Sam tilted his head to the left and squinted. He was as familiar as anyone could be with his partner's dislike of secrecy. "Well, it's not like she spawned an evil organization within another organization with the intent of destroying the world."

Steve snorted, a wry snicker coming out of his mouth. Okay, maybe what she'd done wasn't that dire. She was no Arnim Zola, and thank God for it.

His blue eyes softened, and the corner of his mouth twisted up. "It still wasn't a good move on her part."

"Maybe not," Sam conceded, shaking his head. Holding up a hand preemptively, he continued, "It still could have been worse. The girl met with your, for all intents and purposes, ex. Whom you've personally described as a good woman. Holly didn't exactly sell nuclear secrets to Iran, or something just as terrible."

The finality in his voice made Steve pause, and raise an eyebrow.

"Speaking from experience?"

His friend began rubbing his temple, the unpleasant memories rolling through his brain. "In a way. My last girl told my mother about everything we did, in detail—and I mean _everything_—because she could. That happened right before we broke up, too."

The men shared a simultaneous shudder. The last of his coffee finished, the younger man rose form his chair, padding over to the sink.

"Dealing with Iran would have been less explosive."

Steve let out a low whistle. "Yikes."

Sam shot him a look that clearly said, _You don't know the half of it._

"At least you found out from her directly, and not from, say, her mother."

Now the captain openly winced. "Strike my 'yikes' and upgrade it to 'geez.'"

The other man chuckled, a little forced, but it helped ease the tension somewhat.

"So what's bothering you the most: the fact that she did it or that she did it without you knowing?" he asked, rinsing out his mug. Watching out the corner of his eye, he saw Steve's eyes flick back and forth, silently considering which option was the winner.

He couldn't give a straight answer, because he didn't have one. It was a jumbled mess, all of it: the sneakiness, the deception, Holly bothering Peg while she was…not well, Steve's own impotent anger at deliberately keeping his mouth shut about his past, annoyance at himself for neglecting her natural curiosity, and for her completely bypassing him to get her answers. For making her feel like she needed validation, or approval, from Peggy in the first place.

"Again, she did come clean when you asked. And hell, she probably was going to, anyway. Eventually," Sam repeated, waiting a moment as Steve inclined his head in confirmation. It wasn't a blatant damage of trust, not one that couldn't be mended. "So she goofed up. Just don't burn her at the stake for it."

Another moment passed, in which Steve let his statement hang in the air unanswered. Dipping his head once, Sam pivoted, taking himself out of the room with the hopes that what he'd said would remain with Steve. And he also hoped this would be the only time he had to play couples' therapist. He got better pay working with the veterans in comparison.

**xXxXxXx**

Hesitant knocking at the door Monday morning alerted Steve to the new arrival, and he wasn't at all surprised by the silhouette falling across the shaded inset window. Yesterday was spent on his own, setting things in his room to rights and attempting to alternate between ignoring his thoughts and indulging them. Holly, aside from her texts, did not try to pull him out, and he was grateful for her perceptiveness on his mood. An hour earlier, she'd called, asked if she could stop by quick before work. Having lost out on a day with her already, he was glad enough to acquiesce.

Sighing, he opened the door slowly, peering around it with a careful expression. His girlfriend, perched on his stoop, was tacitly waiting for him, wrapper in warm layers against the chill fall day. A couple pages of paper were tucked under her fingers, which she kept shifting to keep warm.

"Hey," he murmured, noticing the bags underneath Holly's eyes. So he wasn't the only one to not sleep well the night before. Not great, he chastised himself, for either of them. Steve found a smile for her; not a hardship for him to do so, but still. Circumstances and all that.

Giving him a tentative grin, Holly motioned at the door with her free hand.

"Hi. Mind if I come in?" she asked, a cold breeze stirring her hair. Tugging her coat a little tighter, she chided herself for looking, and most likely sounding, like a miserable urchin. "Little cold out."

Holding the door open, Steve immediately ushered her in, concern coming onto his face. "Of course."

Disembarking to the living room, she waited until he got within a few feet of her before she thrust out the papers at him. Screwing up his brow in confusion, he stared down at her offering.

"What's this?"

Her brown eyes were guileless, and she guided the papers into his grasp. A tired smirk curled her mouth, and she raised a shoulder in complicity.

"It's me evening the playing field. And…giving an apology."

His lips turned down into a frown. "You didn't seem all that sorry at the time."

Meeting his disapproving gaze, she clicked her tongue, willing herself to not get overly defensive.

"Depends on your perspective," she shot back, her tone sharper than she'd intended. Rolling her eyes, she sat down on the couch with a heavy thump. Not a graceful, light maiden, she. Crossing her arms over her chest, Holly met his eyes frankly. "I'm not sorry I met Peggy, if that's what you're getting at. I liked her,; she was very cool. I can see why you like her, too."

As he drew breath to speak, she cut him off swiftly, raising her hands in the universal sign of surrender.

"What I am sorry for is not telling you. But I thought, well, I thought you'd get upset."

He snorted, dropping down next to her on the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, well, good call."

That caused her to go quiet, though he could hear her breathing deeply to keep herself calm. He could feel the rise of emotion, sweeping him up little by little. Coughing, Steve looked at her, really looked at her. Stubbornly maintaining her position, Holly's face was an open book, even though she said nothing. A genuine flicker of sorrow reflected in her irises, and he reached out, fingers settling along her arm. The wool of her coat scratched him, anchored him in a way.

"Peggy, she…doll…" Steve did not know how to continue, and after a few moments, Holly felt brave enough to pick up the thread.

"I think get it now. Not talking about her protected her, in a way. And it protected you, too. It caused you pain, otherwise. That's what I'm sorry for: I didn't intend to hurt you, either of you. I lo—I care about you," she stumbled, ignoring the sharp turn of his head and driving forward. Her overheated face deepened to a harsh crimson, and she couldn't blame it on wearing her coat inside. "I care about you too much to want that. I wanted insight, no matter what anyone thought. Selfish, I guess."

She shrugged, self-deprecating, the near slip of the tongue shocking her more than anything else. What she'd almost said…holy crap…did she mean it? Swallowing against her dry throat, she glanced up to see a mirror image of her own stunning expression on her boyfriend's face.

Once, twice, Steve cleared his throat, before exhaling sharply. Issue at hand, he reminded himself.

"So, evening the playing field…?" he murmured finally, unfolding the papers. One was a photograph of a young man, with dark blue eyes and sandy hair, and an impish smirk on his lips. He was crouched down, posing in front of an ATV and looking pleased as punch. Beneath it, a phone number in tidy writing was scrawled. Grimacing, Steve shot Holly a questioning look.

The look on her face was such a missed cross of discomfort and amusement that Steve nearly laughed, from sheer awkwardness.

"That's my ex-boyfriend, Jake Kinsey. You can find him on Facebook, probably Twitter…do some digging of your own," she explained, nodding at it and wincing. She could think of no other way to make the situation she'd put them in any better. Shrinking a little in her seat under his scrutiny, she at least was trying. "It's no less than what I did, if you choose to pursue it."

Tit for tat, he observed silently, but not entirely. Her peace offering was intrusive, but Holly did at least voice an apology as well. She'd subverted his privacy; she was willing to let him do the same, if it would make things square between them. And even if it still didn't make everything okay right away, she was making the effort to set things to rights. Whatever she could do to make it better, she would, because, well…her heart wanted this to work. For as long as it could.

"I'm sorry, Steven."

Then, as if she were almost afraid to do it, she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. That really shook him; he never wanted her to think he would be so upset that he wouldn't want her touch. As she pulled away, he followed, searing her lips with his own.

"Just because I don't like something you did doesn't mean I stopped caring," he said once the kiss had ended, gently laying a hand on her shoulder. Holly blinked, and placed a hand over his, patting lightly. "For the record."

Not one hundred percent fixed, but it was on its way. Good thing, too, as there were bigger fish to fry out there, and they both knew it.

"Well, at least there's that," Holly remarked drily, returning his half grin with a genuine one in kind.

* * *

**A/N:** I have no excuse for being late on this chapter. I rediscovered Sims 4. And there went my free time.

Sorry if this chapter was laying on the sap so thick you could cut it with a knife, but last chapter didn't feel totally resolved. Because Holly did mess up (a little, at least), she would have wanted to make things right in some way. And hello, Sam the Therapist. :-P He wasn't too happy to be dragged into it, but at least he managed to get himself out.

If you're for something with more action, might I suggest some other fics? Or wait a few chapters on this one, whichever you choose...

I would like to get out of October in the next chapter, but...can I really pass up Halloween so easily?;)

Thanks for all the reviews, everyone. You have no idea how much it means to me to read your positive words of encouragement.

That said, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, review again if you feel so inclined, and I'll see you for the next one!


	30. Chapter 30

Halloween. What once would have been another ticked day on the calendar became so much more, that year.

Steve's memories of the holiday had been leery at best. In his childhood, the Halloween "begging" had been less substantial, though getting candy boxes from stores and neighborhood parties did resurface. Back then, it was more about the pranks than about anything else. Just because someone attempted to buy off the kids in their Brooklyn neighborhood straightaway with cookies and other assorted treats did not mean that person would be automatically exempt from having their tires lose air or having their windows egged. In those cases, Steve stood more as a lookout, though when Bucky handed over a couple eggs to hurl through the open bedroom window that belonged to the bully on Delancey, he couldn't quite stop himself. After all, he was ten, and there was plenty of time to be noble when he was older; he wasn't exactly above getting a little bit of retribution at the time.

The last Halloween he officially remarked upon, it was 1941, and some bureaucrat somewhere had tried declaring the last week of October as Doughnut Week. Incidentally, that had been the same week in which Bucky had taken Steve to Coney Island and to the fairgrounds. It was a double date that ended in complete and utter disaster; it could have been avoided, if his friend hadn't insisted they all board the coaster. He'd lost the contents of his stomach, and all the baked goods he'd consumed over the past several days, and swore off roller coasters and doughnuts for quite a long time. Suffice it to say, the girl he'd been set up with never sought him out or spoke to him again.

Now, though, pranking fell to the background in favor of themed parties, outrageous costumes, and gobs of candy that could send anybody into shock. Where it once had been geared mostly towards children, it had shifted into the adult arena as well. After his thaw two years ago, he'd been stunned when shortly after the Battle of New York he saw grown men and women in disguises that would have made his mother faint on the spot.

This year promised something far more dangerous than spooks and specters wandering the streets. In truth, though, it would have been preferable, being with Holly over the holiday weekend, but no promise of seeing her in a cute costume (her words, and he had an intriguing night picturing just what that exactly constituted when she wouldn't divulge her plans before the day), could stop Steve from performing his duties, and Captain America would just have to go without. At minimum, she did promise pictures when he returned, if not a private show just for him. He could live with that.

That evening, he had been seated in the living space on the top floor of the Tower, bent over a schematic of the updated Quinjet with Bruce, when the sound of stomping feet drew his attention up. Barton was there, with Thor close behind him. Both had bright expressions on their faces, with Barton waving a read-out in his left hand.

"Just got word from the insider," Clint announced, waving up at the lab to call down Tony and Natasha. Waiting for the others to gather for his report, it seemed he could barely contain his excitement. In the wake of the increase in HYDRA movements, the ex-agent had seen to it to plant an infiltrator in the midst of the organization, having the fellow report every few days about the shifts in their attacks and retreats. There was very little the informant could tell them, but it appeared, to Steve's eye, that he must have brought Clint something good.

"HYDRA intends to pull out of its bases in the U.S., to various other global locations, over the next few hours. Specifically, two major ones are to be evacuated tonight."

A breakthrough in their pursuit, then. No wonder Thor and Clint looked about ready to jump for joy; this was the sort of news they'd been waiting for. Steve took it in stride, raising his eyebrows as he recalled the date.

"Odd timing, on their part," he murmured.

"Not really. If anything, they can get away with it more readily," Natasha replied, coming to stand at his elbow. "If they're dressed weird, carrying odds and ends of strange equipment, nobody's going to question it too much if they claim costumes as their cover."

Thor frowned at the explanation. Strange Midgardian customs aside, he could not think that humans could allow such blatant lies to go unremarked upon. "Your people cannot be that ignorant."

"_Some_ people aren't," Bruce interjected gently, folding his glasses and putting them into his shirt pocket. "In general, the public tends to be very…unobservant. Especially when something doesn't specifically affect their lives."

"HYDRA won't be unobservant if we gatecrash their farewell party," Tony pointed out, not sounding terribly concerned. "But I'm not gonna lose any sleep over it."

"Your informant was able to discover the locations of the bases?" Steve asked, drawing closer and taking the read-out for himself. Unfortunately, it been scrawled in code, and Barton's handwriting was terribly scratchy.

Clint shook his head. "Not without difficulty. The first is about twelve miles outside of Butte, Montana, in an underground mountain facility."

"And the other?"

"Well, that's the one that's going to cause the difficulty," the former agent confessed, his brow creasing. "It's in D.C. Downtown D.C."

The declaration was absorbed in uneasy silence. Until that point, the Avengers had kept the battle away from their home turf, so to speak, hitting places around the globe. If things went sideways in an attack, the collateral damage promised to be great, a notion that did not sit well with any of them, least of all him. Ice shot through Steve's veins, and he felt his stomach lurch. And there was no roller coaster to blame it on that time. _Holly..._

The same worried look that sprung up on the captain's face was mirrored by all his human compatriots, if not to a lesser degree. For his part, the single Asgardian in the room did look perturbed, understanding the city did hold significance as the American capital. An attack there would not go unnoticed, and the very eyes of the world would turn upon them.

"You've got to be kidding me," Natasha scoffed, rolling her eyes and folding her arms. "How was that one not wiped out months ago?"

The captain managed to get a hold of his stilled tongue, mind racing as he spoke. "Cut off one head—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, we get it," Tony cut him off, holding up a preemptive hand. They'd heard quite a bit of the phrase on their end runs over the last month or so, when HYDRA agents refused to go peaceably after the Avengers had dealt with them.

"The thing is, the majority of the cell had gone to ground immediately after the helicarrier disaster, and at the time the location was unknown," Clint said, running a hand through his cropped hair. "The deserters came back once the coast seemed to be clear. It's high risk for them, but again, they're doing it so that they can empty the facilities of anything useful."

Natasha raised an eyebrow, falling on the implication. "Like Loki's scepter."

Barton shot her a smirk. "Among other things."

"If SHIELD was running secret major operations, you can bet your ass that HYDRA definitely has some stuff they don't want anyone to see," Stark said, the gleam in his eye revealing how much he would like to know exactly what was being hidden. Rumors were gruesome, and confirming the truth about the plans for human experimentation and extraterrestrial exploration were top priority. "So, one foot in the heart of democracy, and the other out in West Bumfu—"

"—The middle of nowhere," Bruce stamped over the words, going off the warning glare shot by the captain. Sighing, he continued, "I guess the question now is where to go. I can't imagine we'd have the time or the resources to get both done in the time frame given."

"We could, if we split up," Steve countered carefully, pushing the sudden spring of fear and weighing the options presented. The organization was dispersed as it was; the people who had returned would not be great in number, as their intent was shut down their hideouts indefinitely. The goal would be to detain, and retain whatever information the HYDRA soldiers gathered. Perhaps through them, the Avengers could get a solid lead on the titular head of the organization, run him down and stop them once and for all.

By splitting up, HYDRA stood less of a chance getting away with more than if they chose to stick together, in one location. Upon agreeing about where they would all go, the team went their separate ways to change into their suits, intending to roll out immediately.

Striding in grim determination, Steve fished his cellphone out of his pocket, swiping through his contacts and tapping to connect a call. As the seconds passed, he felt the knot in his stomach tighten, the only relief coming when the answering click sounded on the other end.

"Hullo?" the familiar voice muttered, incredulity injected in the single word.

Steve swallowed, reaching out with his free hand to unlock the chamber in which his uniform sat. "Sam, I need a favor."

**xXxXxXx**

"Sorry," was the first word out of Holly's mouth as she disembarked from the car an hour later. A bag was slung over her shoulder, and her coat was wrapped tightly around her, obscuring the majority of her costume from sight. Having been in the midst of preparing for the night's festivities, she had brought along the rest of her kit to complete her assembly at Sam and Steve's. The exterior of the house was placid in comparison to some of the neighbors'; no orange fairy lights or ghosts in the windows, but at least there was one pumpkin on the doorstep. Greeting her upon her arrival, Sam shot her a quizzical look.

"For what?"

"For, well, kind of imposing on your evening. Happy Halloween, by the way," Holly replied, sighing inwardly. A little disappointed not to have her guy in town for the fun, she was still determined upon going out with Sarah and Aaron to the local bars for some costume parties. What she hadn't expected was a phone call in which Steve expressed major concern over her welfare and asking, point blank, how close to downtown she would be that night. There were no details that he was at liberty to reveal, other than there was a potential for spill-out for the operations he and the others would be attempting. In another circumstance, she might have objected, given how there was always a potential for backlash just because she was his girlfriend period, but the undercurrent of his voice set off warning bells. There was no arguing with that tone. Still, when he told her that Sam would be sticking close to her during the night, she felt a little put out on the other man's behalf. "Weren't you going to spend the night with Tori?"

Sam shot her a rueful smirk, ushering her inside. That been the plan, until Steve had asked for his help. It wasn't a major stretch, but it was a little disruptive. "Somehow, I think she's okay with the change. What with her exciting costume ideas."

Holly's eyebrows went up a fraction. "She'll be able to pull something off for you in such a short time?"

He gave a short gesture with his fingers, internally shrugging off the doubt. "She has a degree in theater arts, geared specifically towards wardrobe. If she can't throw something together last minute, I don't know who else could."

Holly blinked, barely suppressing a smile. "How in the hell did she end up working at the VA?"

Sam shrugged. "Life. They were hiring, she needed the money..."

Ah, that explained it, then. "Well, whatever she pulls together, that's not all you'll have on hand, right?"

Casting a sobering glance at her, Sam nodded. "Definitely not."

His wing pack, even if it wouldn't be on his person in public, would be on hand should he need it. And, though neither acknowledged it, both were glad he had a concealed carry permit to utilize. Thus reassured, Holly wandered further into the house, taking advantage of Steve's absence to use his room for changing and storage.

Setting her bag on his desk, she glanced around the room. It was tidy, the bedclothes straight and neat, and the compact furniture serving its purpose. A soft grin came to her lips as she viewed the photo frame propped on the nightstand, the one she had given Steve for his birthday.

The cold in her heart warmed as she looked over the photograph, her face pressed against his and his half grin reaching his eyes. The gift was sentimental as all get out, and she was pleased that he'd given it a place of prominence. It was strange, being in Steve's home when he wasn't there. It was stranger still, knowing he'd be near, performing his duties as Captain America. Swallowing against a surge of fear that climbed up her throat, the implications and imagined scenarios made her internally tremble. Going over to it, Holly traced the edge of the frame with one finger, sighing and trying to get a hold of herself.

Not knowing what he'd be up to, that was tough. Not knowing if he'd be coming home safely, that was harder to deal with. Violently, she pushed the vile thoughts that surfaced back, urging herself to trust in the Avengers' abilities to watch out for one another, her free hand clenching as a silent prayer went through her mind.

"Be safe, babe," she whispered aloud, shucking her coat off and going back to the desk to finish her preparations.

**xXxXxXx**

Gathering in an alley across the street, Steve kept a wary eye on the lack of traffic in and out of the supposed HYDRA base. The orange of the street lights cast a sickly glow on the sidewalks, adding a sense of the sinister along with the biting October wind.

Due to symbolism, or perhaps as a retroactive form of self-flagellation for not conquering the problem at home sooner, it had been unanimously decided that he would lead the assault on the D.C. location, with Thor and Clint accompanying him. Tony and Nat dropped them off just beyond the outskirts of the city, the Quinjet speeding off as swiftly as it could. Bruce merely gestured his farewell, huddling into a corner and listening to some opera to settle his nerves (he didn't want to turn mid-flight, and being lost in music kept him calm). The factions seemed to have fallen together naturally; at the very least, it was better for the Hulk to be unleashed somewhere without many people around, and Natasha could actively test the lullaby in the field with Tony as a back-up deterrent.

One tactician, one infiltrator, one bruiser per group, as Natasha pointed out; they were evenly balanced.

The old trust building loomed before them, a grand edifice carved out of white stone and asserting itself as it was squashed amongst the modern architecture around it. In the glow of the street lamps, the place seemed to exude an air of superiority, while at the same time seeming antiquated. However, after conducting a digital sweep, the building was revealed as a major hub of electronic activity. It hardly looked like a place that would be the cover for an evil organization, though Clint had figured it was an appropriate choice.

"Money is the root of all evil, after all," he commented dryly, affixing one of the arrow shafts in his quiver with one of the detonator heads. A collective groan was shared over the com-links. Evidently, the Quinjet was not out of range for that remark.

"Remind me of that the next time I'm shelling out for more of your equipment," Stark muttered darkly, his voice crackling over the waves before cutting out communication completely. Both teams had their objectives: reconnaissance and detainment, with excessive force if necessary. As clusters of people wandered by, Steve secretly hoped that HYDRA would opt for more peaceful negotiations, but he doubted that. Their action would have to be restricted to a three block radius, maximum. It would be too dangerous, otherwise.

_Please, God, let Holly be far away from this._

The shadows behind the pillars of the trust building shifted, and Steve could just make out the figures of men sneaking around the corner. There had to have been a hidden door, a passage down below. It made sense. He would take point on initial entry, with Thor at his back and Clint sent on ahead for scouting and gathering data once they'd gotten past the first wave.

"Let's go," he rumbled, nodding his head at the darkness, his heart beating in anticipation and nervousness.

Motioning his compatriots forward, his heart lurched when a gaggle of youngsters plowed into their path. Granted, they appeared to be near Holly's age, but many of them had baby faces beneath the extensive makeup and masks, looking more like they should be heading to a high school dance than to one of the bars several streets down.

One of them, sporting a flowing cape and a scratched helmet, raised his plastic hammer in salute. "Hark, our doubles have appeared! Great costumes, dudes."

Peering around his shoulders, Clint and Thor joined Steve in sharing a stunned look at the kids. The heroes were half in shadow, not under direct light, and evidently were getting away with looking like another set of Halloween revelers.

"Well, look at that," Barton murmured in amusement, sizing up a tall, lanky fellow with a plastic bow in one hand and black sunglasses perched on his nose in place of goggles. "The Avengers."

Clearing his throat, Thor inclined his head towards the one who had greeted them, pointing his hammer at the young man. "That is a fine helm you have there."

The kid grinned, adjusting the painted piece and flashing a significant look at the Iron Man of the group…actually, in this case, Iron Woman. She rolled her eyes, flicking her dark ponytail over her shoulder and attempting to discreetly adjust the lit circle acting as her arc reactor. Her helmet was tucked under one arm, more for show that for anything else. Behind her, a heavier guy scratched at the green paint all over his torso and face.

Down the block, a voice called brightly, drawing all their gazes. "Avengers, assemble!"

Steve had to admit, the young man looked fairly at home in his garb, even if his shield was a little out of scale and the suit was tailored after his stage uniform. At least he had the commanding voice for a Star-Spangled Man. The little group moved on, with further wishes for a happy holiday (the Black Widow's bobbed wig slipping as she did so), leaving a trio of shell-shocked heroes in their wake.

"…Okay, so, flattering as that was, anybody else a little weirded out by the fact that we're a costume theme now?" Clint asked. "Show of hands."

Simultaneously, Thor and Steve raised their hands, watching the group stagger their way down the street. A little kernel of worry sat in Steve's gut. Those kids could potentially make themselves targets, in case HYDRA decided to take to the streets, with their get-up. One mistaken shot, and…it would be awful.

_All the more reason to get this done quickly, and carefully, _he thought, drawing himself to his full height and gesturing forward again. They could not afford to delay any longer.

"Well, Avengers—"

"Say it and I'll put the hammer down somewhere other than on your shield," Thor riposted swiftly. The last of the levity drained away in the face of completing the mission set forth. Following the captain's lead, they crossed the street, determined to meet their foe head-on.

* * *

**A/N:** …Yes, I did that. I apologize for cutting off where I did; however, this is yet another one of those chapters that grew out to be longer than I initially set out to make it. So, consequently, it has been split.

Remember that time I mentioned that I have three (count 'em, 1-2-3) jobs? Guess who got scheduled for all three, on a Sunday to Sunday schedule this past week? Gah…tired. I will try to get the next part of the Halloween events up as swiftly as I can (still needs some tidying up in regards to the editing).

And trust me, I'd be as weirded out as Clint if someone decided to make me into a costume. Also the "tactician, infiltrator, bruiser" comment is in reference to the classes of heroes in the game, _Marvel: Avengers Alliance._ Yeah, the Facebook game. I played the crap out of that after the first Avengers film came out. PS: Halloween was way more intense years ago. Seriously, kids would throw bricks and do all sorts of things during the week of the holiday. It was nuts (also, the Doughnut Week thing was something that happened, too). Google that stuff, man!

Alrighty then, moving on…thanks for reading, please review, and I'll try to get the next chapter out ASAP!


	31. Chapter 31

Using security overrides provided by Barton's insider, the captain and his teammates smoothly entered the HYDRA base. Following a flight of metal stairs down, they felt the cold, stale air hit them, with hostile voices calling out in the distance. The place bore the hallmarks of abandonment, with dusty walls and scuffed, dirty floors, but the scrapes along the tiles indicated recent movement. Trusting to the lackluster lighting, the three were able to pass amongst the shadows, without engaging another soul for several minutes.

However, it only took one lone agent tripping over Thor's foot for the enemy to raise the alert. After the fellow squealed and backtracked, he managed to hit an emergency button, blaring lights and rattling alarms bouncing along the walls. A mob quickly formed at the base of another stairwell, firing at will as the three Avengers met them head-on.

Bullets ricocheted off Steve's shield as he drove forward, the twang of Barton's bow mixing in. Swinging his hammer, Thor deflected some opponents that had jumped the balustrades and attempted a rear attack. Motioning with his free hand, Steve pointed to an overhang.

"Clint, get up there. Cover us as we go."

"Roger that," the ex-agent responded, using a rappelling arrow to hoist him up higher. Over the com-link, he confessed as he strung up two more shafts, "Looks like the electronic signals are coming from up here, close by. I'll find the point and get to work on the hack as soon as you're clear."

Formidable with guns, the HYDRA agents in that mob were poor hand-to-hand combatants, and with the aid of Mjolnir and a few stray arrows, the majority of the fellows were either sprawled at the captain's feet or vanishing into the lower compartments of the hideout. Steve was hot on the trail of a few of the stragglers, while Thor chose to follow a break-off up another flight of stairs. The shield flew from his grasp, catching a door and forcing it open as one of the escapees tried to block his entry. Breaking into a full run, the captain jumped the barrier, swiftly removing his shield from its hold and continuing on after them.

"Talk to me, Clint," he gasped, going lower still. It was a warren of stairs and walkways down there, each one echoing with abrupt shouts and clangs as the remainder of the HYDRA agents were made aware of the problem above. He had to pick his path carefully. "What's going on?"

A slight crackle came over the com-link, but soon enough the sound of rapid tapping and a sigh filtered into his ear.

"Found their main computer banks, but it's very tricky. System's running interference on its own. Whatever I break into, it rewrites and throws me out after a few seconds," Clint muttered, not a little exasperated. "I'm downloading what I can, but...somebody's throwing it off. Probably someone inside the system, pushing me out."

"Perhaps it is some scum upon the fourth level, back pressed against the wall underneath a table while tapping furiously at his Midgardian keys to keep you out?" Thor queried, a scuffling sound and muted shrieks following his words.

Steve faltered in his steps, crouching low and peering around a corner. Suddenly, it had gotten too quiet on his end, the hollering melting away. He could hear the bitter smile in Clint's next question.

"...Mind cleaning that up for me?"

A hearty grunt met their ears. "My pleasure."

A metallic thump came over the line, and the shrieks abruptly stopped. Steve winced in mock sympathy; being on the receiving of Mjolnir was never enjoyable, and he certainly didn't envy the HYDRA agent who'd gotten in the way of it.

"Thanks, that helped a little," Clint responded, the clacking of the keys increasing on his end. Steve merely nodded to thin air, vaulting over a railing to land solidly on the floor below. "I might get a tenth of what they're hiding now, as opposed to a fiftieth or something. It already looks promising."

"Good. Grab what you can; I don't think they'll let us stick around for too long," he told the ex-agent, making his way through semi-darkness. A sickly green light cast a pall at the end of the walkway, and he felt drawn to it. Perhaps there were more HYDRA assassins hiding out there, or rogue equipment left behind. "Thor, put a tracer on that agent. If he wakes up and runs, I don't want to be chasing after him for months."

"You got it, Cap."

"Done."

Stepping lightly, Steve picked his way over fallen debris and shattered glass towards the greenish light, meeting with a heavy metal door. Turning the pronged handle, the screech of grinding gears and metal giving way under his hands grated on his nerves, but with some effort he managed to get it open. Setting a foot over the lip of the vault, his eyes narrowed, examining the murky room.

Cabinets lined the walls, rusted shut from disuse, while outdated monitors of all sizes lined weathered tables. A gate, half off its hinges, opened upon the far end of the room where more technical paraphernalia concentrated around a single chair. Lamps that resembled the ones from dentists' offices were busted, a sheaf of papers emptied and scattered along the floor. Beyond that, a dome-shaped colander with trailing wires waited, and…decaying bodies were slumped in front of a massive container, a frigid breeze coming off it.

Breathing heavily, Steve crossed over to it, dread flooding his veins. His free hand reached out, touching the inset window upon the container, picturing the face that had once been frozen upon the other side.

"Damn," he murmured, tracing a deep scrape along the frozen door. Evidently Bucky had returned to his captors, most likely several weeks back if the decay around him was any suggestion. The dead scientists, traitors though they were, had several brutal marks upon their bones. They had not suffered a fast death, but rather it was painful, slow…vengeful. Glancing around, he knew it would be impossible to remove any of the abandoned equipment easily, and so instead reached into one of his belt's utility pockets. A thin scanner, no longer than a pencil and no wider than an inch, came to hand and was placed upon the floor.

"JARVIS, copy the room and its contents for future analysis," Steve said, tapping the link in his ear to connect with the correct channel.

"Yes, Captain Rogers," the AI murmured, doing as directed. "Hold still, sir."

Going rigid, Steve only had to wait a few seconds before a scan was complete and transferred to their private databanks. At his leisure, he could examine the room for any other clues in regards to the failing organization, but for the moment he couldn't luxuriate.

Especially not since a massive boom shot down the causeway towards him, the floor rocking under his feet briefly. Stooping to retrieve the scanner, he stumbled and caught himself on the container's edge.

"What in the-" he wondered, tapping back to the channel shared by Thor and Hawkeye. More shouts came through now, and a sharp inhalation grated on his ears.

"Party's moving outside, Cap," Clint called, swearing under his breath about a 'damn detonator.' "We need you upstairs...now."

Placing the scanner back in his belt, Steve gritted his teeth in annoyance, immediately rocketing out the door and down the hall. Barely breaking his stride, he jumped to the first overhead walkway he came across.

"On my way."

**xXxXxXx**

Approximately seven streets down and eight blocks over, the blast from any supposed bomb would not have been felt through the pounding on the dance floor of Shooter's Bar. The Halloween bash was in full swing, the costumed participants jamming away to the mix at one end of the building, while the mellower of the crowd pressed against the bar at the other. Orange and black streamers trailed down from the ceiling, with gauzy fake spider webs in the far corners. Caught in the cross between the two extremes, Holly sat at a table, keeping an eye on the dance floor. Sarah, the captured princess to her boyfriend's adventuring plumber, was turning circles around the floor, her pink skirt flying and gold tiara slipping to one side as she did so. Aaron, his red cap tucked in the back pocket of his overalls and long hair tied back, twirled her around, laughing and pulling her close at the last minute. The computer geek and his dancing, rifle-wielding girlfriend were having a ball. They seemed an unlikely pair, but she couldn't remember the last time Sarah was so enamored with a man.

Holly smiled ruefully, wishing just the tiniest bit that she could have shared the moment with her guy. Toying with the miniature lunch pail that was belted to her waist, she forcibly reminded herself why Steve couldn't be there, the shifting contents her safeguard against potential backlash (the taser had fit snugly inside, unlike her bat, which she had to leave behind). Shaking her head, she shot a glance at the person to her right. The full black cowl and cape turned in her direction, setting a prop scythe down and tugging playfully on the bandanna in her hair. The ragged edges of his sleeves tickled the side of her face, and she couldn't stifle a giggle as she swatted the hand away.

"Knock it off, Grim Reaper."

"Cheer up, buttercup," the deep voice within the darkness said, sounding more cheerful than she felt at the moment. Lifting up the cowl, Sam passed a hand over his brow, wiping away the sweat and picking up his drink. Throwing back a swallow, he gave her a minute grin. "This is not your party, so no crying even if you want to."

She snorted. "Like I would, anyway."

"So you're not a sad drunk, then."

"I'm not even drunk, period," she pointed out, her glass still three-quarters full even though they'd arrived at the bar over an hour ago. Holly wasn't tempted to let loose in the slightest, the nervousness in the pit of her stomach threatening the worst if she did. In a lower tone, she continued, "And you aren't, either."

Sam shrugged, not denying the truth. On the off chance that something went awry, he couldn't afford to be intoxicated. Nodding his head across the table, he said, "Got my part covered."

Snickering, Holly looked over to Tori, tippling back the last of her drink and whooping after she did so. The woman was definitely holding her own in the drinks department; her high tolerance was being tested that evening. Reaching up, she caught herself at the last moment and forced her hand down, unwilling to smear the skull painted over her features. The pattern followed down her neck to the top of her ragged dress and along her bare arms. The hood of her cape had long since fallen back, her fake blades tucked into the belt at her waist.

"Death's Mistress is certainly rising to the challenge. Has been all night. Nice job on the costumes, Tori. You two are one of the coolest couples here."

Tori nodded at that, blinking slowly and letting her grin grow. "And you wanted to watch movies, _mi hombre hermoso_."

Snickering, Holly cut a curious look back to Sam, whose eyes grew warm and his smile a bit wider. "I may not know much Spanish, but even I know that was sickeningly sweet."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Whatever, doll."

Ducking her head, Holly felt the pink rise in her cheeks. She should've known that Steve's pet name for her would get thrown back in her face.

"Besides, it's a step up from _pendejo_."

Tori chuckled low. "You dish it; you better learn to take it, _amorcito_."

Amused, Holly relaxed back into her chair. So far, the night had been pretty par for the course, as far as Halloween bar parties went. The costume contest would be underway shortly, and in the meantime she was enjoying the banter with friends. And the longer she went without hearing of the worst as far as the Avengers were concerned, the more she believed that the night would end with the touch of normality it began with. Adjusting the collar of her denim romper, she noticed the shift in attitude in the crowd. The music had dimmed, and the people around her were milling more in confusion than in varied states of inebriation. Slipping out of her seat, her eyes took in the grim expression that settled on Sam's face. Trying to weave her way into the crowd, Sarah and Aaron met her before she'd taken two steps away from the table. Grabbing her hand, her friend started towing her closer to the bar.

"Oh my God, Holl! Look!"

"What, what's going on?"

Pulling away, Sarah's gloved hand flapped towards one of the television screens against the wall. The bartender, fumbling for the remote, changed it over to the local news. In the midst of street lamps and a spotlight from a hovering helicopter, the anchor onscreen reported the shoot-out happening in downtown. The metro police were on the scene, engaging in hostilities between an unnamed group and the Avengers. Speculating that the battle could wage on for some time, Holly focused on the lower half of the screen, the glint of light off a painted shield grabbing her attention. The spurts of gunfire rattled, the three heroes looking to be outnumbered. The sharp, sick feeling in her gut increased tenfold, and she drew away from her friend.

"Oh, balls," Sarah whispered, linking her other arm with Aaron's as he came up. This was bad, terrible, really. The captain was in the heart of battle, his girl witnessing it at a distance. She couldn't imagine what was going through her friend's mind, nor could she tear her gaze from the breaking footage to ask. Tori, who had gotten out of her seat to examine the television with them, took a moment to glance around. She'd known why they had gone out, knew that Sam would consider it his duty to back up his partner and friend, and sighed in resignation when she couldn't spot the black cowl and cape of her boyfriend anywhere.

"Sam's gone," she told her companions. Green eyes darted to her, then around bar in growing horror.

"Where's Holly?" Sarah asked, suddenly frantic. Groaning at the death grip on his arm, Aaron's bright eyes sought out the form of the other woman to no avail.

"Shit," he groaned, knowing that things were about to go from bad to worse.

**xXxXxXx**

Contemplating the keys in her hand, the young woman felt the turmoil roil through her mind.

Having dashed out of the bar after Sam, she kept hard on his heels as he backtracked to where the SUV had been parked. Her coat flapped around her, nicked just as she'd gone after him, the wool the only barrier between the thin romper and the chilled night air. Idly, she congratulated herself on wearing boots with her costume, instead of ridiculous heels.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Sam had grumbled, dashing into the parking lot and swiftly opening the back hatch. Pulling off his disguise, he barely managed a glare when she finally caught up with him. "What the hell are you doing?"

The growl in his voice pulled her up short, but she brushed it aside. "I just...I was only—"

The wing pack was removed from the trunk, the straps slipping over his shoulders as he blew out a puff of air.

"Whatever you're thinking, don't."

Mulishly, she'd set her jaw. "I wasn't thinking anything."

She genuinely wasn't thinking of anything; the fear for Steve's life drowned out everything else. The panic that Sam would be throwing himself headlong into the fray as well climbed, but Holly didn't really have any intentions at that moment. At least, none that she would hazard sharing aloud.

Snapping his goggles in place, she could just make out Sam's rolling eyes. "Sure, you weren't."

Slamming the trunk doors shut, he clicked the automatic lock button, pressing the keys into her fingers.

"He wants you to be safe, Holly."

Inhaling deeply, she forced herself to keep calm. Invoking the memory of his authoritative voice, how it couldn't completely hide the worry for her, she did not need to be reminded of the promises Steve had extracted from his friend. Without another word, Sam took off again, jogging to build up momentum. The wings expanded, making him cut a dark swatch through the night sky.

Shaking, she tried to rationalize, to will her feet back the way she'd come, but Holly's heart pounded in dread at the thought of returning. In the mob of people, she didn't think she could hold it together. Playing the hero was not something to aspire to, nor was it something she sought out. It could get her killed, tortured...but she couldn't walk away. She couldn't just sit, wringing her hands, while Steve stood in harm's way. Not when she was close enough to see the danger he was in.

_Think or act. Think or act._

Holly was unaware that she was driving until the tires began to skid loudly as she braked at a red light.

**xXxXxXx**

A cop car whizzed by on the crossroad, but instead of following it directly, Holly went up a couple of streets. Crossing over, she parked the SUV down a ways from the police barricades which had been set up in haste. Due to the holiday and the time of the battle, civilians had mostly cleared from the streets, but one or two stragglers like her kept an eye on proceedings from a safe distance.

It was something like a nightmare, hellish flashes of gunfire popping on and off, the occasional bolt of lightning striking the earth and blasting away the milling enemy. Once or twice, she spotted the reflection of the shield, pings of missed shots bouncing off the vibranium (or so she imagined. She wasn't close enough to know for sure).

The circling helicopter cast the trio of Avengers in its brightness, alternately making it easier for them to see and also making them noticeable targets. Forcing the SUV to creep a little closer, Holly clearly saw Thor standing out in the open, thrusting his hammer into his opponent's chest. An arrow flew, spouting tiny shots of its own and felling a circle of enemies, the marksman able to dodge from one pillar of the trust building to the next, taking shelter in what the spotlight couldn't touch. Pulling up from a straight nosedive, Sam plowed into several people taking refuge behind a commandeered police vehicle, the remains of the car smoking and still burning. In the midst of it all, Captain America spun from one combatant to the next, a blur of red, white, and blue as he kicked one fellow in the face and twisted midair to avoid another's blows. Here and there, the police were taking their shots, but neither group seemed to have the edge.

Perhaps her presence would be altogether unnecessary.

Suddenly, a rogue truck broke through the barrier on the far end, shouldering its way through the destruction at full speed and making a beeline for Steve. Holly couldn't breathe, couldn't find the time to even scream as it hit him with its full force. A split second before impact, the captain executed a leap, rolling up and over the hood as the vehicle floored it out of the fight. Speeding past her SUV, she could see that Steve was hanging on for dear life, refusing to let the enemy get away so easily. Stepping on the gas pedal, Holly maneuvered into the fastest U-turn of her life and chased after them.

There was no plan, there was no scheme in her mind as she did any of this; this had to have been the first time in a long while where she'd acted without thinking, truly. If Steve was flung from the truck, perhaps she could get him to safety afterward, or something. Or so she told herself, deciding that even a half-assed plan was better to concentrate on than the fear and the anger that was consuming her.

Inch by inch, the SUV was catching up with the runaway truck. Jerking into the right lane, Holly squinted, ascertaining whether or not Steve had held on throughout the bobbing and weaving as they encountered the sparse traffic (he was, but barely). The engine roared as she tried to force it to go slightly faster, her knuckles white as she gripped the steering wheel and the rules of the road banished from her mind.

The wail of sirens was muted in the distance; the police wouldn't be far behind too much longer. But Captain America couldn't keep hanging on indefinitely; the truck had to be stopped.

In the few seconds that it took for the SUV to pull up just ahead of the truck's back bumper, Holly had made another decision. Steeling her nerves, she forced the wheel left.

Clipping the back bumper, both vehicles spun out along the stretch of road. Screaming, the young woman in the SUV followed through with the spin as best she could, instinctively slamming the brakes and watching the world spin at a faster rate around her. After a minute, the SUV halted, her body shaking with relief and petering adrenaline. Taking stock of her surroundings, she noted that the rear of her car faced the broadside of the truck, which had come to rest right behind her. Frantically, she looked for any sign of a dashed superhero on the road.

Steve, spotting the approaching SUV well before the moment of impact, had anticipated the slam and launched himself from the truck, curling protectively against his shield. Absorbing his fall, he skidded across the pavement, stopping just a few yards behind the vehicles. Pushing himself onto his knees, he bent his head, trying to catch his breath. Thank goodness for his armor and helmet; it would save him from road rash, this time.

The truck's engine began to rev, drawing his attention. HYDRA's vehicle, when it had stopped after the spin-out, was facing him. The driver's face could not be seen clearly, but he could well imagine the dark look he was being given at the moment. The high beams sprung on, blinding Steve momentarily. Bringing up his shield arm, he braced himself for the impact of the truck when it would charge him.

Instead, the crunch of metal and glass came, the truck ground sideways into a median by the SUV. The softened pops of airbags were lost in the chaos of screaming sirens, several police cars arriving and spilling out officers. The uninjured HYDRA operatives fell out of the truck, forced to the ground with hands behind their heads and surly glares upon their faces as the cops ringed around them.

Steve, however, occupied himself with another task. Getting a better look at his savior's car, the unwelcome knowledge that he recognized that particular SUV made his insides clench. Heart beating hard in his chest, he skirted the hood of the SUV, the sinking feeling in his stomach not abating as he wrenched the damaged door open. Sam had been left behind in the heart of the fight, so who...

"Oh, my God."

"Ouch," the young woman groaned, rubbing her neck with her left hand before pressing her fingers against her forehead. Bruises would bloom soon enough from where the bag had hit her face. The deflated air bag drooped into her lap, bare legs mostly unmarked. The other hand lay limp across the middle console, and her knee was already beginning to swell. A bandanna was knocked askew, pushed back into place after a second or two. The curled ponytail had pulled free of its pins, swinging as she turned her head to meet Steve's incredulous gaze. "Good thing I didn't do that with my car."

_'The next time you want to pretend you're anyone's hero, remember this day,'_ her brain chided her, expecting a recrimination from her boyfriend and knowing she deserved it, at least in part.

"Holly," he gasped, his voice carrying so many emotions that it was impossible to pin down a dominant one. Rather, he concentrated on freeing her from the seat belt, taking her into his arms and removing her bodily from the SUV. Holding her close, his eyes flicked shut on the repressed horror at finding her behind the wheel as it threatened to swamp the alleviation upon seeing that she was still alive. How did she even come to be in this mess? What in the world had compelled her to seek out the danger this time? The thoughts rotated in his mind. One arm curled around his shoulders, her face pressed into his neck.

"I know, explanation's needed," she murmured, pulling back enough to look at him squarely. Her brown eyes shimmered, whether it was from the pain of her injuries or from the joy of seeing him unharmed, he couldn't say. "But first..."

Tugging hard on the collar of his uniform, Steve found himself drawn into Holly's kiss, reveling in her taste and the feel of her lips for the briefest of moments. It seared him, grasping his deeper feelings and bringing them to the fore, his gloved hand cupping her jaw, bare fingertips dragging along her skin.

'_She's alive, she's safe...' _Unknowingly, his thoughts ran parallel to hers in that time, and pushed them onward.

All too soon, it was broken off, her body pressing hard against his. It wasn't a shameless, wanton act of her part, though.

Gripping tighter for balance, she coughed, "And second...my knee, and wrist..."

Nodding, Steve began to walk her slowly towards an ambulance that had arrived a minute or two previously. More of the authorities were trampling onto the scene, his missing teammates assisting with the round-up of captured HYDRA personnel. Once he got her situated with the EMTs, he would go over and lend a hand as well. As Holly clung to him, her jacket opened, revealing the costume she'd assembled. Glancing down at the name patch stitched on the front pocket, he raised an eyebrow (hidden under the helmet) and smirked.

"Rosie the Riveter?"

She snorted, risking a grin in spite of the seriousness of the situation. "We can do it. We most certainly can."

"You most certainly did," he retorted, shooting her a significant look, the smirk fading slightly. It promised retribution, promised that there definitely was going to be a long conversation regarding her actions on the road. But it could wait, he decided, hoisting her up into the back of the ambulance and answering her smile of thanks with a nod of his own. For the moment, it could be held off; if the pain in her gaze was any indication, she was already chastising herself for her choices that night. Whatever her ideas, she'd come out alive.

_'Later.'_

Tapping his fingers against her boot, he turned away. "This time, please stay safe."

He didn't catch her hum of agreement, but he did hear Holly's vocal reassurance. "Can do, Captain."

* * *

**A/N: **So I shouldn't have complained about my schedule last week. I had my one day off this past Monday, and I won't get another one until the 11th. Hoo-rah.  
Sorry the chapter was late; I intended to post it right after the other one, but then time got away from me, and then I wasn't satisfied with the original draft after reading, so I changed it, and...well, here you go. If the action sequences sucked, I apologize. I tried!  
By the way, I'm surprised nobody's made the connection with Aaron yet. First one to do so...gets a digital cookie, I guess.  
What this chapter really did was make me realize that I need to watch _Agents of SHIELD_ very soon, since everything crosses over at some point.  
Also, Holly attempting to play hero is not going to be a common occurrence. At least, not one in the field. Heroes can be found in everyday settings, too. ;) Sorry, I'll stop there.

I don't speak Spanish, not fluently at least. I took a few years of it in high school, but very little stuck with me. Thus, here are the translations:  
_Mi hombre hermoso_-My handsome man.  
_Pendejo_-Idiot.  
_Amorcito_-My love/sweetie.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!


	32. Chapter 32

Muted noises broke the haze of sleep, her eyes slowly opening and squinting against the sunlight peering through the curtains. Blinking, Holly sat up, yawning wide and rolling her shoulders to work out the kinks. Flicking her eyes left and right, she quickly understood that she was facing the far wall of a bedroom not her own. Dully, she recalled coming back to Sam's house, curling up under Steve's comforter with strong ibuprofen and sleep enveloping her. She'd remained conscious long enough to remove the vestiges of her costume, a clump of bobby pins and bandanna on the nightstand. Her Rosie romper and boots were clustered by the desk, her wool coat flopped on top of her bag.

If anyone looked in to check on her, at least she had the tank top on to provide coverage over her underwear.

A thud of pain coursed through her body, ending at her right hand and knee. Glancing down, she spotted the splint placed along her wrist, and when she swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, she grimaced at the sight of the leg brace as well. Mottled bruises dotted her skin here and there, and from the way her face was aching, she knew some had cropped up there, too.

For a moment, she wanted to believe the events of the previous night had been an intense dream, but the evidence of the truth was right in front of her. The flash of memory: chasing the truck, scraping the back, the horror of realizing what they intended to do to Steve while he was grounded. Recollecting the hard crash she committed upon the enemy truck, she let out a shuddering sigh.

Holly knew she was lucky to have walked away with the minimal injuries that she had: sprained wrist, tweaked knee, no concussion or major whiplash. The doctors who examined her said so to her face, and she could read it as truth in the expressions of her compatriots as they gathered at the hospital as she was treated. Sarah had looked stunned, with Aaron gawping openly when Steve had stopped in later to check on her (and he had visibly started upon seeing the Apple genius dressed as a video game character. There was a story there, but there wasn't any time to ask). All she remembered thinking at the time was that she was glad she had decent health insurance, and damn, she was going to owe Sam big time for the damages to his SUV.

_Happy freaking November, idiot, _she groused silently.

Something brushed against the small of her back, but before she could gasp in surprise, the familiar voice calmed her. The bed shifted behind her, the hand sliding from her back carefully up to her shoulder.

"Just me," Steve murmured, scooting over the covers to sit beside her. To be honest, she'd not expected him to be there. After the round-up of the HYDRA stragglers, he and the others had to reconvene with the remaining Avengers about recovered data and the progress on their end, and so she was discharged into Sam's care after her hospital trip (following the original plan for the night to do so; after Sarah recovered from her shock, she was given a sharp talking-to, and Holly certainly didn't want to sleep on her couch after that). Evidently she had guessed wrong about his heading back to New York and staying there until later that day.

Though he looked exhausted, he still appeared to be in better shape than she. A scrape along his jaw had a bandage over it, and there were a couple tiny cuts on his cheek, but that appeared to be the worst of it. Grateful for this, she let her gaze roam over him, and she was a little surprised to see that he still had his uniform on. The helmet, boots, and fingerless gloves had joined her pile of stuff around the desk, his shield was hanging from an installed hook on the wall, but the rest of the armor had remained intact (complete with a few scrapes from bouncing on the road).

"Morning."

Relaxing in his touch, she grinned through the sting on her face. "Good morning. When did you get in?"

"About an hour ago. Had to wait for Tony, Nat, and Bruce to come back east before we were able to compare notes. We'd finished with that around five this morning," he replied, clenching his jaw tight against a yawn. "Once that was done, I grabbed my stuff and was dropped back here as soon as possible."

_He came back here so quick, he neglected to change out of his armor. Oh, I think he really likes you, _a little voice sing-songed deep inside her. Ignoring it, she pressed on.

"Good to know. Even the bike, too?" she asked, giving a low whistle at the load capacity of a quinjet. "Nice."

In answer, Steve smiled but said nothing. As his bright gaze scanned her face, she could see his own inquiry was on the tip of his tongue, and so tried to forestall it.

"Did you guys get what you wanted last night?" Holly ventured in a low tone, taking his hand from her shoulder and lacing the fingers of her good hand with his. "And the others, they're okay?"

For the sake of her safety, much of what Steve did with the Avengers was kept strictly confidential, something she could easily acquiesce to. But what she did know was that HYDRA was in for a very rude awakening very soon; perhaps it would be sooner than was previously speculated.

Steve shot her a tired smirk. "The team's a little banged up, but otherwise they came out fine. And yeah, we got something to work with."

The tight look in his eyes suggested she not push on the subject, and she found herself physically nodding in agreement. Her neck twinged, and she couldn't suppress a grimace.

"Are you all right?" Steve's concern came on full force, his gentle grip releasing her and his fingers brushing lightly along her chin.

Sliding her gaze away, Holly glared at her wrist and knee, muttering, "Um...technically, no. But I'm not dying or in danger, so I guess the answer is more of a yes."

The thin smile she gave him invited him to see the humor in her words, but he wasn't having it. Instead his brow furrowed, his frown growing.

"Care to explain what you were thinking last night?"

His tone was sharp, and his unflinching gaze told her that further avoidance of the topic was impossible. Exhaling softly, she pushed down a groan, the ache in her head asserting itself.

"I will…if I could get some coffee first," she said, motioning towards the door. "Hold that thought."

After a donation of Steve's smallest pair of sweatpants (with a tightly tied drawstring and the ends rolled up around her ankles a bit; he was seven inches taller than her, after all), and with one of her issued crutches assisting her, Holly made her way slowly down towards the kitchen. She had refused assistance, stating that she would have to get around with a weak knee for a few weeks and wouldn't put anyone out in the interim. Nevertheless, she felt him trailing slowly behind her, poised to catch her in case she stumbled, but she found a walking rhythm that worked for the time being. Thankfully, the coffee maker had been set the night before, and so a half-filled pot was ready when she got to it. Evidently, Sam had already taken some and made himself scarce.

Locating the last clean travel mug, she set the crutch aside and shuffled along, irrational anger at her braces stirring as the materials pressed into her pained areas. It reminded her too much of the time she'd broken her ankle in middle school; an image of her thirteen-year-old self struggling down the halls with her backpack and the stares of her classmates resurfaced. Knowing where she was heading, Steve stopped her with one hand gripping her arm, raising an eyebrow at the mulish set of her jaw and getting the creamer for her himself.

Dumping a healthy slug of it into the mug, she told him, "You don't have to baby me."

He rolled his eyes at her as she handed the container back to him. "Knock it off."

Capping the mug, Holly bit her tongue. Picking a fight for no good reason would do her no favors at the moment. Instead, she grabbed the crutch again, with Steve carrying the mug for her as they returned to the bedroom.

As she settled on the end of the bed with the mug handed over, Steve mused quietly, "Should have grabbed some for myself."

Holly snorted, "You need sleep more than a shot o' caffeine."

Closing the door with a snap, he grumbled, "You're not my mother."

_Okay, now your pissy attitude has made things worse, missy, _she chastised herself, sobering a little at the thought. _You better do some damage control or you're gonna make things spiral down further._

Outwardly, she shrugged her shoulders and gave him a rueful smile. "Nope, just your naggy girlfriend."

The statement went a little ways to cool things down. Steve, watching her for a few moments with his back against the door and his arms crossed over his chest, allowed the barest fraction of a grin to grace his features. After she'd taken several long sips of her drink, he meandered over to the desk, pulling out the chair and facing it towards her before sitting down.

"Ready when you are," Steve announced, and Holly swallowed hard against the burn of the coffee. One deep breath in, another out. In, and out again.

And so, choosing her words as carefully as possible, she attempted to explain what exactly had caused her to abandon reason and ignore warnings. Piece by piece she told him of going out with the others, the breaking news report that gave the Avengers away, her pursuit of Sam, and the surety that she had to be there, to know he would be all right. In truth, she wasn't thinking, she had been acting. Well, reacting was more accurate, but still, she had gone with what felt right at the time as opposed to sitting and waiting.

"I didn't run in there with the intention of actually fighting or anything, not...not really," she confessed, looking down and picking at the comforter. "I just wanted to see for myself that you would be okay."

Steve, who had absorbed her entire explanation in silence, nodded at that. His eyes lost a good portion of the darkness lurking around them. "Nice to know you care."

Holly smirked, though it didn't quite reach her gaze. "Very much."

The truth in her words was so strong that he was unable to answer it directly. Silence stretched between them, both of them turning over the previous evening in their minds from their different viewpoints.

Eventually, Steve sighed and declared, "You got lucky."

In turn, Holly gestured with her mug and shrugged one shoulder, matching his sharp tone. "Just borrowing from the insane amount that seems to cling to you guys."

Acknowledging the point with a dip of his chin, Steve got up from his chair and resumed his place beside her.

"You planning on making that a regular occurrence?"

Though easily asked, the question carried a lot of weight, and Holly knew it. His wary expression did not stray from her as she placed her coffee container on the nightstand, taking a few of the ibuprofen prescribed to her against the growing aches. Dry swallowing the tabs, she already knew what her answer would be.

She laughed, very little humor in her voice, "Hell no. There's a difference between a compulsion to help and delusions of grandeur."

"Good to see you can make the distinction," he responded wryly, slipping an arm around her waist and drawing her closer. Inhaling mutely as she settled against his side, he relaxed as she rested her head in the crook where his shoulder and neck met.

"For now. If it gets any worse, I'll get some neat painkillers, and we'll see what decisions I'll make then after taking those."

He blew out a breath. "Great."

"You still mad? Or, er, sore, I guess?" she amended, making an attempt to use his generation's vernacular. He shook his head minutely, a corner of his mouth turning up at her words.

"I wasn't sore. Just...worried." _For you_, was the unspoken amendment to the statement, the tightening of his arms lending further credence to the truth. Recalling the horror in his eyes when he'd pried her from the car the night before, she knew exactly how deep his concern went. Her good arm went around him in response, her splinted hand and wrist laying over his heart.

"Me, too," she whispered. Clearing her throat, she continued in a stronger tone, "I won't interfere again."

And she meant it, every word of of her promise ringing strong and true.

"You only ran interference to stop my head from being crushed like a grape. Not like you charged headlong into the organization."

"Nah, not crazy enough to do that," Holly remarked, earning a chuckle from him for her effort. Sitting up straight again, she let her eyes trail over Steve again, fingers brushing along the weave and plates briefly. "You know, I like your uniform. Looks good on you."

_It'd look better on the floor, _she thought saucily, her inner voice in complete agreement on the idea. Wisely, though, she held her tongue.

"Thanks," Steve replied, tilting his head to the right and shifting a little. "Though it can be uncomfortable at times."

"Like when you've worn it for hours without a break after a skirmish?" Holly ventured, her eyebrows inclining a little and her tone becoming innocent. One eyebrow of his inclined, but otherwise he just blinked sleepily. "Maybe we could fix that."

Snickering, he shook his head to disguise the tiny, wicked grin forming. "Trying to get me out of my clothes?"

_Well, well, well, Mister Rogers. Great minds— _

Rolling her eyes, she couldn't quite suppress the smirk curling her lips. "I'm just saying, it might be better to change into something else to sleep in. You're falling asleep with your eyes open."

If it was an exaggeration, it wasn't too much of one. Even with his protests of not being able to stay long, that he would need to leave soon, back to New York again after making sure she was okay, he had begun to pull open the fasteners at the neck of his armor in compliance. Steve wouldn't be of good use to anyone if he was nodding off during planning with his fellow Avengers.

Able to make the short distance to the chest of drawers without badly straining her knee, Holly set herself about the task of getting him a clean t-shirt and some sweats. She turned back around in time to see him lift away the top piece of the uniform, the under-armor going along with it. The splotches of bruises splayed along his chest and down the right side of his torso were already healing, but they still pulled her focus. For the time being, anyway (there was still a good chest underneath the bruises, and it wasn't something she could ignore at the best of times).

"They don't hurt," Steve said in response to her silent question. "Just sting a little."

"For being thrown from a speeding vehicle, that's not too bad," Holly replied, her heart thumping at the memory. "Or for being shot at."

Grimly, Steve shook his head in the affirmative. "Compared to the past, this is a cakewalk."

Handing over the clothes, Holly merely turned her attention as he finished to the stack of books neatly gracing a corner of the tiny bookshelf, selecting one with a snicker. With coffee in her belly and at least six hours' sleep in her system, she wasn't going to pass out again any time soon. Might as well occupy herself somehow.

"My Tolkien," she commented to herself, the weathered paperback sporting a new bookmark in between the pages. He must have started reading it again; he liked it enough to have kept her copy since he first borrowed it in April. "I could stand to spend a few hours in Middle-earth."

Turning the overhead light off, she made sure the curtains were shut tight after turning on the lamp on the nightstand. Steve, under the covers, propped himself on his elbow. Tapping the com-link still in his ear, he directed JARVIS to arm the security systems and to be on the lookout for the next few hours.

"You don't have to stay," he said to Holly when he was finished, sounding far younger than his years in that moment. Odds were that his repressed emotions and thoughts would surface in his dreams. If he ended up moving around in his sleep and accidentally thumping her, he would not be pleased with himself.

However, it wouldn't the first time she would be witness to such a thing, and it never was intentional. Besides, she'd popped him on the shoulder one time when he'd spent the night at her place; when two people shared a smaller space like a bed it was bound to happen on occasion. Holly could handle it. And, moreover, she didn't want to leave him.

After getting back into the bed, she leaned over and kissed him, a bruiser that left their lips tingling and both of them wanting more, even if Steve was nearly gone at the moment.

"Better to stay right here. The moment I leave this room, Sam's going to lay into me about the damage to the SUV," Holly supplied with a frown, propping up her pillows and leaning against them. Wadding a blanket and using it to elevate her sprained knee, she continued, "I'd like a couple hours of peace before that."

Steve's deep grunt told her all she needed to know about the truth of that assessment.

"Okay," he said, laying his head on the pillow and flicking his eyes shut. Reaching out, he rested a palm gently against her stomach before going still. After a moment or two of quiet, he mumbled, "Don't lose my place."

"In _my_ book? Of course not," Holly scoffed, making a mental note to be careful of his mark anyway. Balancing the against her good knee, she flipped open to the first pages and enjoyed the warmth of his fingers as they spread over her belly. Inspired with a bit of cheek, she inquired, "Would you like to hear a bedtime story?"

If it was possible for a person to snort and groan at the same time, Steve was making a valiant attempt at doing so. Humor won out, in the end.

"If you insist, princess." One more shot launched before he fell asleep, it hit its mark just as intended. Holly grumbled under her breath, in good nature, biting her lip to keep the smile off her face.

"Nerfherder," she muttered, clearing her throat and starting in a stronger tone, "'Chapter One: A Long Expected Party'..."

* * *

**A/N: **Thus ends the Halloween shenanigans. Yeah, it's cutesie as all get out, but you know what? That's just the way it goes sometimes. The story is labeled "romance", after all... ;-)

_The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring_ is owned by Tolkien/many others; my name is nowhere on the "own the rights to" list. I just borrowed the terms and the chapter title. I also don't own the mentioned term from _Star Wars. _(If I don't disclaim, that will be the time someone attempts to hand me my ass on a legal platter. :-P )

The last couple of weeks have been hell. I haven't had a day off work since July 27th, and I am SO READY for my break in the middle of the week. I may or may not post a little later next week as a result, but I'll try my best to get something out on Saturday/Sunday.

Anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you next time!


	33. Chapter 33

The day was mild for November, slightly warmer than normal, but not by much. It promised to turn colder within the next day or so, but for the moment, it was preferable to have sunshine and few clouds to the inevitable snow. Winter could afford to hold off, in his opinion. Until his task was finished.

His motorcycle parked, Steve removed his helmet, a thumb running absent-mindlessly over the the stenciled "Brooklyn" on the back. Inhaling deeply, he glanced up at the sky, relieved to see nothing but blue sky above him. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he was glad to confirm that he had not been followed; the grand archway off Jamaica Street and the trees standing tall and straight, very nearly the same as they were over seventy years ago. Packing the helmet away, he drew up the hood of his sweatshirt, worn under his jacket against the briskness of the drive.

With the heightened exposure, it was unlikely Steve Rogers would be able to venture anywhere without being recognized, but perhaps his privacy would be better respected here. Cypress Hills Cemetery, though public, commanded a measure of respect. The clusters of people dotting the grounds would doubtless be more concerned with their visitations than his. Still, while he pushed his aviator sunglasses into place, it wouldn't hurt to be cautious.

Retrieving a small wreath from his bike pack, he pocketed his keys, walking away and avoiding the main office entirely. The groundskeepers were elsewhere, and despite the occasional spillover noises from the city, it was relatively calm. The dead took no notice of his passing through, and he paid them no mind, the living barely glancing at the tall, hooded man moving past. He knew exactly where he was heading, and so did not pause in his journey.

One would think, legendary soldier that he was, that Steve would gravitate towards the expansive military lots, white headstones stretched as far as the eye could see. Particularly on November 11th; a couple of organizations had attempted to engage him for a speech or a flyby visit. That was not the case, however. Or, at least, not the entire case, and so he'd rejected the invitations.

Veterans' Day was more than a matter of course for Steve Rogers. It was a family affair; after all, he wasn't the only Rogers who had served.

Picking his way carefully down a path, he veered to the right, sliding smoothly into the grove of trees, the tightness in his chest growing with each step he took. The lump in his throat became harder to ignore, but he kept willing his feet forward until he found the site he was looking for. Looking down at the headstone, a new one commissioned around one year ago, he knelt on the dying grass. Reaching out one hand, he traced a finger across the carved letters.

"Hey, Dad. Mom. Here, I brought you something."

Setting the wreath in the center, Steve settled back on his haunches, exhaling sharply. A sense of quiet moved through him, rare for his visits to New York.

"I know it's been awhile...okay, a really long time, but...well, I'm here, now. I suppose you ought to know what your son has been up to since the last time I visited. Hate to say it's mostly been work, but, then again, Mom, I blame you for that."

Fair enough; even his mother would have conceded the point, if she were there.

For the past couple of weeks, he had been hard at work with the others, interrogating and tracking down remaining HYDRA bases not yet flushed out by Fury. When Nick had claimed that not many rats had gone down with the ship, he wasn't kidding. The organization had run deeper than anyone could have guessed. However, all the HYDRA operatives they'd taken into custody were more than willing to turn coat, provided they could save their own skins. Agents like Rumlow, with hardened determination and a powerful willingness to serve unto death, cropped up now and again, but usually by the time the Avengers came to take control, the others simply wanted an out.

The sense they were getting, that Steve was getting, was that the system was inherently flawed once the heads of HYDRA were off location. Infighting and undermining had become commonplace, and though most were devoted to the cause of chaos, it was harder to stick to. The world had changed since the organization was first formed; it had become harder, harsher, and the lines that separated the good from the bad, the steadfast from the wary, were blurring. The HYDRA agents were destroying each other. The truest believers were the in the highest levels of the organization, and for the moment, they were well out of reach. Therefore, Steve and the others had to make do with the wafflers, trusting only about half of what they were told as a rule, and even that half they were skeptical of.

The Halloween raids were the most successful, yielding more in the way of technical data than in prisoner information. After Dr. Banner had recovered from his lullaby (double dosage, as unfortunately Natasha had not used enough initially and had to chase after him through the Rockies for awhile), the analysis of the information thus far told him and Stark that, while Loki's scepter had been moved yet again, it had been used in the last two years. The results were skewed, as instead of opening portals to other dimensions in space, they were experimenting on humans. Steve had known some of this, having Barton's confirmation of this possibility back in June, but there was some proof of test subjects manifesting abilities beyond regular human capability. Granted, most of them had evidently died during the trials, but there was evidence to suggest survivors. No names, no further data, but the HYDRA scientist did deem the outlook as favorable for the remaining subjects.

The scepter was the key. It was keeping HYDRA from drowning entirely, and to know it was still out of reach was intolerable. Steve was determined to end everything, once and for all. The Red Skull's grasp on the world had to be broken, for the good of everyone. For the well-being of everyone he cared for. And he had been working hard towards that goal, tirelessly at times.

That inner strength of will, that stubbornness, that was a gift directly inherited from his mother, and he knew it. After all, a widowed working mother had to be, especially in the times he'd grown up. She'd had virtually no help after his father had died in the Great War; having been disowned by her Catholic family for falling in love with and marrying a Protestant man, Sarah Rogers couldn't turn to family to assist her with her infant son. Especially after choosing to raise him Protestant, having converted during her marriage and going against her own upbringing; being Irish in the United States back then was disadvantage enough. Night and day, she struggled and survived by the skin of her teeth to give her boy a decent life, not even letting sickness mar her course (mostly his sicknesses; his mom rarely was ill, as far as he could recall. The fact that she'd passed on from a disease she helped treat for years still shook him, even decades on).

Shrugging, he glanced from one name on the headstone to the other.

"Maybe it's Dad's fault, too. You'd know better than me."

Another fair point. Sarah Rogers had not liked talking about Joseph, had found it too painful to do so, and since Steve hated to give his mother further grief, he curbed his tongue. What little she did say implied that Steve was very much like his father, in character if not stature. The likeness was strongest when Steve had expressed a desire to follow in his father's footsteps, and his mother nearly broke down when he accepted the Purple Heart on Dad's behalf when he was fourteen.

Passivity was not in his nature, and he doubted that it would have been in his dad's; a young Irish immigrant couldn't afford to allow himself to be beaten down and not pull his own weight in New York City during the century's infancy. Only Sarah could say for certain, and, well, she wasn't exactly able to tell now.

"But...that hasn't been all of what I've been doing. Well, I mean, maybe that's not the best choice of words, but...anyway, I've...got a girl. I know, I know, Mom, of course it would happen when you're not around to meet her, but trust me, it wasn't planned that way," he murmured, smirking as if sensing his mother's rolling eyes and dismissive, waving hand. Glancing over, he let the smile on his lips recede slightly. "Nothing ever goes how we plan. Right, Dad?"

That was true on so many different levels. His father's emigration, the meeting of his mom, the marrying of orange and green that neither of them could have foreseen. Joseph's enlistment, his death two months before his son's birth. Hell, it was a testament to Steve's own life. The asthmatic kid from Brooklyn turned super soldier in the blink of an eye (an incredibly painful blink, granted). The guy who'd lost his friend during the war, only to face him years later in a street fight. Plans, in the grand scheme of his life, tended to go awry, or skew slightly off course.

Sometimes, though, they skewed in a better direction.

"But this time, it's been a good thing. I think," Steve mused aloud, shaking his head at himself. The qualitative was untrue. He amended his statement. "No, I know."

Sam had once asked him what made him happy. At the time, he didn't have an answer. There wasn't much in his life to be happy about, that made him feel like he living, instead of just existing. Little did he know when Holly Martin walked into his hospital room, her brown eyes unsure but her offer of companionship genuine and unforced, he had a chance at happiness. She had entered his life eight months ago, altered his path in ways that he didn't think were possible. Possible for him, at least. For good and for bad, his world had changed and changed again with her involvement in it.

And he couldn't stop himself from imagining what his parents would think of the young woman he'd chosen as his girl. Mom probably would have loved anyone who cared for him; she had always wanted him to find joy with anyone. Dad, though, that was a harder guess, given that he'd never had the chance to even talk to him. Plucking at the dying grass, the upsurge of emotion caught him off-guard, and he swallowed against it.

"I wish I could talk to you, Dad," Steve stated quietly, a wealth of longing in his voice. "Just once. Said that enough, but it doesn't make it any less true."

There were some things that Steve could never talk about with his mother, and though Mr. Barnes had always been kind in his gruff way, it wasn't the same. And he was quickly discovering that it did not matter what age he was, twenty-six or ninety-six, he still wanted his father's perspective on things. A perspective that was beyond his reach.

_'How did you know, Dad?' _he wondered, staring at the granite before him for several seconds. The thought kept returning to him, in the night when he couldn't sleep and he wrapped an arm around Holly's prone form. The brush of her hair, her smell as he held her close, caused a shiver to go down his spine. Something deeper than affection, stronger than lust, bloomed in him, but...he still wanted an answer. '_Did it just occur to you one day, out of the blue? Or did you always know? Because I think I know, but I don't know how I know.'_

Removing his sunglasses, a chill ran through him then, the air around him still. Something unearthly contained him in that moment, the sun brighter and his parents' names sharper in the stone. Steve couldn't move, nor did he want to. No matter how strange it would sound to others, he knew he felt the presence of someone there, watching him. It was with him in the direst time, when the darkest waters threatened to swamp him.

_'You just know.' _The words came to his mind, unbidden and utterly sure. The calm he'd felt upon arriving had returned, more finite. It came with a sense of peace, layered with something he couldn't quite name.

"They'd be proud of you, Steve," Holly had told him. When she'd called to honor her veteran, he found himself contemplating a visit to his parents, a visit to the veteran who had shaped his life. In a moment of doubt, he wondered aloud if he was doing right by them. Inwardly, he didn't know if they would be happy with the man he'd become. After all, the past year was evidence enough, and the compromises he'd made during the war never sat well with him. There was no way to tell what they'd think, if they were alive to tell him so. With deep certainty and affection in her voice, Holly set him straight, in a way encouraging him to go through with his plan. "I am."

Steve wondered if Holly knew, too.

"I miss you. Both of you." The deep, familiar ache sharpened, making him suck in a harsh breath. It would never go away; the freshness of the pain had worn off, but it would always be in his heart, sitting deep down. Pain, that had been nearly a constant since his childhood. Masking it never did any good, and there was no way to forget it.

But there was something—someone—to take away pain's hold on his life, to stop it from dictating every move. Maybe that was a motivation he shared with his father, one that enabled him to step onto the battlefield and push down the fear. For better or for worse, Joseph Rogers had made his choices, and planted the seeds for his son to do so without ever meeting him.

Rising from the ground, Steve sniffed, feeling the edges of his eyes sting with unshed tears. Saluting the grave, Steve fought against the tightness in his throat, pulling himself to his full height and blinking away the grief. The Purple Heart was buried in storage, along with the photographs and other items he'd reclaimed after coming out of the ice. It had nearly taken a court order for the historical societies to surrender his personal affects, but he'd gotten through to them eventually. He just wanted back what was his, even if he had locked them away right after the surrender.

The award deserved a place of honor. It came at a high price, like everything else in the world that mattered. Perhaps it was time to take it out, along with a few other things.

"Thank you, Dad," he whispered, finishing the salute, one soldier to another, a son to his father. Putting his fingers to his lips briefly, he laid his hand atop the gravestone one last time. "Love you, Mom."

He stood in silence, an inner prayer forcing him to go still. Glancing over, he saw the other people honoring their fallen veterans moving off, away to others or back to their cars. It was time to go home.

It was time for him to go, too. Affixing the sunglasses and straightening his hood, Steve Rogers turned around, with one parting sentence directed over his shoulder.

"_Codladh s__á__mh_." It wasn't much, as Mom wanted him to be raised "all American" and not have to deal with the prejudice she'd grown up with, but the little of the mother tongue she imparted would be a good start to honoring both of his parents' memories. It could begin again with wishing them a good rest in peace as he walked away, back to the living world.

* * *

**A/N:** A little shorter than some of the previous chapters, but it was an idea that wouldn't let me be.

The amalgamations of Joseph and Sarah Rogers' characters are cobbled together from what I've learned on the internet and from my own head canon. I try not to mention religion too much in my stories, but it makes sense to me that they were from differing sects and perhaps had a crossed wedding, which back in the day was frowned upon. His dad being first gen immigrant and his mom being second gen citizen is my head canon, along with her choice to raise Steve in his father's image (in a way). It would explain A) why Steve's dog tags list him as Protestant, along with some of the comic verse claiming it as well, and B) there are no family connections for Steve to fall back on after his mother's death because of her conversion and subsequent disowning (according to any 'verse; I couldn't find anything about him going to either his mother's or his father's families in that time). Everything that does not seem remotely original is from the Marvel Universes. Also, the struggles of Irish immigrants were real. And they were terrible. There are numerous websites that attest to this truth, even if I did somewhat gloss over it. Sorry if any of this offended you.

According to the Marvel Wiki, Steve's dad was posthumously awarded the Purple Heart.

The Cypress Hills Cemetery is a real cemetery, chosen because of its connection to the Marvel Universe (check out its Wikipedia page).

Also, I'm part Irish, but I know virtually none of the language. So, online translator it is:  
_Codladh s__á__mh: _sleep well.

A Veterans' Day interlude, I guess is what you could call this chapter. Just paving the way to Thanksgiving, and taking a break from the action of Halloween. :) No Holly save by mention, but we'll get back to her soon enough.

In case anyone was wondering what happened to me, I took a break from the story and work, visiting with my family over the weekend and the past few days. My nephew is adorable; we had to play superheroes, and he had to be Captain America. It was cute. :) But I'm back now, and I'll try to return us all to the regularly scheduled programming.

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next chapter.


	34. Chapter 34

At three in the morning, from her high vantage point, New York City was beautiful.

Curled up in the armchair she'd dragged towards the floor to ceiling glass panels on the far wall, she couldn't help the thought. It was lovely, with the spotted lights of the skyscrapers mimicking the stars that from the street were not visible. Being as high up as she was, it was thrilling to be on the same level as the Chrysler and the Empire State Buildings, sufficiently recovered from the damage wrought years ago by the attack. She tried to spot Hell's Kitchen, which looked rough in the daylight (it hadn't fully recovered from the alien attack as of yet), but the darkness enfolded it, obscured it from her sight.

Holly never slept well in new places, even when she was with familiar people or if she felt confident in the security. It was a simple fact of her life, something she'd dealt with through childhood sleepovers and even some college road trips. It was true when she first moved away from home as well; her beginnings in D.C. were marked with bleary mornings and a lot of coffee to keep her going. It was partly why, before she became his girlfriend, she did not stay over at Steve's place while house-sitting at the beginning of summer. That, and as her feelings for him increased, she didn't want to inadvertently appear like a creep and do so. Her apartment served her just fine at the time.

However, when she agreed to spend Thanksgiving in New York, at the Avenger Tower, she knew she would be in for a restless couple of nights. It had been a hard decision to make, choosing it over spending time with her family, but after striking a deal with Sam to help pay for the repairs to his damaged SUV, she couldn't justify shelling out and putting herself deeper in debt. Plane tickets weren't cheap, and she felt—actually, she knew—that she no longer had any favors to call in. Even if Sam was being gracious about the payment amounts she was giving him, it still was a hit to her savings. With two of the major holidays coming up with a month of each other, she had to decide. Steve had offered a solution, one that she could readily agree to and one that her parents could accept.

She counted herself lucky for the alternative. After the last holiday's escapades, she didn't think the Avengers would even have the day off, let alone be able to celebrate. Holly's stomach clenched a little at the idea, a bit of her nervousness creeping in. During the day, she'd managed to push it down, channeling her concentration after work towards the five-hour drive she had to make to the big city. Though the building itself was impossible to miss, navigating traffic in and around Manhattan was a downright nightmare. At that point, the Avengers Tower, which Steve had once deemed ugly, was her bright beacon of salvation in the crowded, cramped streets. It was well after ten at night when she got in, with only JARVIS directing her placidly towards Steve's quarters and the captain in question greeting her with his own tired smile and embrace before they both went to bed.

For the moment, she avoided the inevitable introductions that would have to take place.

_'At least I've already met Tony Stark, and Nat; that's a plus,'_ Holly thought, propping her elbow on her knee and resting her chin in that hand. _'It might not be so bad.'_

"Hey."

Turning at the sound of the voice, she felt her lips crease in an exhausted grin. The lamp she'd lit did not in any way illuminate the entirety of the massive space of the main living area, but it was enough to let her see Steve standing, leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest. His expression mirrored hers, and as he raked a hand through his sleep-tousled hair, she couldn't help the warmth that spread through her heart.

"Hey," Holly responded, laying an arm along the back of the chair and waving a few fingers at him. Shrugging one shoulder, she sighed, "Couldn't sleep."

"Noticed," he commented wryly. Crossing through the living area to her spot by the window, he settled on the arm of the chair, reaching out to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. His brow creased in concern. "You doing okay?"

She didn't even pause to think about her answer. "Yeah. I'm fine."

And she was. Holly did not feel anything was amiss here; though a pretty big target, the Tower was quite possibly one of the safest places she could ever be. After Bucky's warning some months ago, she tended to more on the lookout for trouble, for any retaliation against the actions of her boyfriend that would be enacted on her. Especially since she'd taken her chances and risked danger only a few short weeks back; with Holly's insertion into the Halloween raids, brief though it was, she had essentially thrown more focus on her person that any hitman or HYDRA agent could act upon. Thus far, they hadn't; either they had remained ignorant of her identity, of what she'd done, or they had decided—for the moment—she wasn't worth the time and effort to take out. That would not always be the case, and she could not let herself be lulled into false security.

But for now, in the company of one of the best men she'd ever known, in a building filled to the rafters with others dedicated to the safety of the earth and themselves, she didn't feel too bad. Instead, she curled up in her chair, tucking her legs under her and settling her head on Steve's thigh, her attention captured by the glowing city beyond the glass.

"It's beautiful," she murmured, closing her eyes as Steve idly ran his fingers through her hair. He didn't pause in his ministrations as he gazed out on the city, his home for so long.

"It can be."

"Do you miss it? I mean, miss living here full-time."

Holly looked up at him then, his bright eyes meeting hers as he pondered the question.

"Well, first of all, this is Manhattan. I never lived in this part of the city until after I woke up. And second..." he trailed off, his movements petering off as he considered a point on the wall over her head. "Sometimes. I miss the old neighborhood."

It was fair, in her mind, for him to miss what he used to have. Even if the place had been a source of pain and heartache on a daily basis, Brooklyn had still been a place for the good in his life, too. The good memories were what he missed, and she could understand that. After all, she had times where she missed living in Minnesota, missed the familiar houses and people she'd grown up alongside. Still, she wouldn't trade what she had now for that, and she got the sense that Steve commiserated with her on that point.

Choosing to change the subject, Holly asked, "What time is dinner tomorrow, again?"

Steve replied, "Tony said around mid-afternoon, depending on when the food gets delivered."

"Not exactly a world-class chef, is he?" she snickered, glancing up and taking delight in Steve's answering smirk.

"If you wanted a feast of waffles and burned omelets, then he'd be the guy to call on."

"Duly noted," she muttered, turning her mind to tick off the guest list aloud. "Us, Tony and Pepper, and Thor and...Jane? Just the six of us tomorrow?"

"Bruce is out with his cousin and her family for the day, but he might show up later. Nat and Clint are off on a special assignment." The captain's expression turned thoughtful. Both the ex-spies had been vague on the mission they were to participate in, hinting that it had to do with a request from Fury, but something about it seemed off. Maybe he was getting better at discerning Natasha's shifts in mood, or maybe it was Clint's wariness on pronouncement of their absence. Either way, something was going on; all he could hope was that it would succeed, or at least not be detrimental to the main cause they all fought for.

"Workaholics," Holly declared decisively, her eyes sparkling with humor.

"True for Natasha, but Clint, well...I think he'll find some way to celebrate, if he can," he said, giving a form of air to his suspicions. "Even if it's just with a turkey sandwich."

Blinking, Holly felt her eyelids drooping in tiredness, not sure she could last much longer. "So, not the whole family, but a good portion of it."

Steve fell silent at that. Having not given the matter much thought, he began to see the truth in her words. Not by intent, not by design, had the six individuals become a family, but over time and through their actions, it had happened. Once, long ago he would have considered his family to number just one, but he could see now that that was no longer the case. Two years ago, these people were strangers, but now, after surviving and fighting, after protecting one another and working together, they were so much more. This was not the family he was born into, but it was the one he could count on.

"I guess you could say that," he whispered, clearing his throat. Getting to his feet, he held out a hand to Holly. "Come on, let's get back to bed."

"I'm not sure..." she said, cutting herself off with a wide yawn. Rolling his eyes, Steve took her hand and drew her to her feet, with very little resistance on her part. Moving closer, she let her free hand (splint-free now, it had healed nicely) rest against his chest. "Should make it worth my while."

He raised an eyebrow, gave her a sly grin as he moved to take hold of her waist. "I could sing you a lullaby."

Sliding her fingers up to the crook of his neck, she gave her answer in the form of a kiss, slow and sweet, her body pressing firmly against his. Heat flushed through him, the acute ache that came with their time apart from each other completely obliterated. It was so good to have her here, to be with her. Her sleep shirt had ridden up, enough so that his slid beneath the hem, reveling in the smooth expanse of her back. So close, pushing to the edge. It was nearly enough to make him lose his composure.

_'Wait,' _the little voice inside him, deep down, spoke up then, not gotten rid of for long. _'Not yet.'_

Pulling away to catch her breath, Holly's brown eyes were glassy as looked up at him, staring as if he'd said the words aloud. Inhaling deeply, Steve gave the minutest shake of his head, though whether he was denying her or himself, he couldn't tell. A few moments passed before Holly took his hand again, seemingly taking the initiative and heeding the inner message.

_'Not yet. But—'_

Towing him back to the bedroom, she looked over her shoulder at him, giggling slightly at his half-dazed expression. "So the lullaby...will it be by Sinatra or the Andrews Sisters?"

Recovering after a second or two, Steve muttered, "Well, I do know _Sleepy Serenade_."

Watching as she laughed and gave him a cheeky grin, he felt something inside of him give way.

_'—But, well, not much longer.'_

**xXxXxXx**

Dinner itself was not as big an ordeal as Holly had been anticipating.

The company was small, but it was still fascinating. Before the food had arrived, everyone had congregated to watch the Macy's Parade on television, with Tony remarking idly that if they'd answered the invite in time, the team would have been Grand Marshals ("Or on a float. Can't decide which would have been more interesting.") Holly spent the next ten minutes picturing what could have been, while the others explained Spongebob Squarepants to Steve when that particular balloon made its way along the route.

Once introduced to Jane and Pepper, she found herself able to relax in the group. Pepper, bright eyes wide, had greeted her kindly, not being pedantic or overly friendly, but she'd taken an interest in her life. She was the one inquiring after her job, which although not stunning, did bear some similarities to hers in regards to keeping a company running, particularly under a boss would could at turns devoted and erratic in his endeavors. Jane Foster, Thor's companion, was polite enough, a darker shade to Pepper's light. But when Holly asked about the progress of her research in astrophysics, she became animated, enthused by the possibilities of bridging worlds and universes much as Asgard had been bridged to Earth. There was no mistaking the quiet pride in Thor's eyes as she spoke, the behemoth of a fellow silent and smiling through her speech. She understood very little of what Jane explained, though she could admire her dedication to her vocation.

The conversations shifted, and somehow Holly had gathered the courage to ask Thor some questions about the truth in Norse mythology. Broaching the topic hesitantly, she inwardly worried that such a significant being would be offended. On the contrary, he seemed open to the idea, amused at the imaginations of the humans about his fellow warriors and his world, but his attitude had altered after awhile.

"Your brother shapeshifts into a horse once and the world will not let you hear the end of it," the god had grumbled after one particular inquiry. "Youth, Miss Martin, is a blessed and cursed time."

When she proceeded to ask if youth was to blame for the escapade in which he was dressed as a bride and taken to Jotunheim to get his hammer back, what she got in response was a dropped jaw and Steve shaking with repressed laughter next to her. The line of inquiry was stopped by the announcement that the food was ready for consumption.

With the catering company bringing everything up, temporary clearance of the private elevator given, she found herself marveling at the idea of not having Grandma's pecan pie or hearing her father inevitably scream at whatever football teams were playing that year. Making a mental note to call in later, she had turned her focus back onto her companions, shop talk and everyday topics filtering in and out. Largely, Holly observed, watching Steve engage in banter with Stark, brother-like and biting in turn. With Thor interjecting his own two cents every now and again, the leftover Avengers seemed more at peace and comfortable than on an average day. Even if the gang wasn't all here, she could see how much Steve did care for these people.

Tony, Thor, Natasha and Bruce, Clint...they were his family, by bond if not blood.

After the meal was finished, Holly felt the need to duck out for a moment alone. While the others began to split into different factions, she decided it would be a good time to refill her wine glass and process the day thus far. Departing for the kitchen, she paused on the threshold, observing quietly for a moment as the other occupant was filling yet another plate with food from the leftovers scattered on the counter. Looking up, he gave her a clipped nod, accompanied by a small grin.

"Here for a little Pop Tart Surprise?" Tony asked, motioning to the platter he was picking at. While catering had taken care of the majority of the meal, contributions from the others were welcome, if at times odd. The mix of syrup slathered on top of the strawberry-flavored breakfast confection sat with pride of place in the center of the desserts, and was largely demolished (the god's handiwork on both counts).

"Well, someone showing up with Pop Tarts on a plate is a bit of a shock." Gesturing with her empty glass, she nodded to the wine bottles stationed on the counter opposite them. "Any more of the pinot noir left?"

Nodding, Stark expanded a hand towards it, inviting her into the space. Coming in, she automatically moved to give him space, not wanting to intrude on...whatever he was doing with the Pop Tarts. A part of her could not totally suppress the feeling of absurdity the situation carried; it was unthinkable that she even knew Tony Stark on any level, let alone spent a holiday in his home. Without it costing $5,000 dollars a plate to do so, that is.

Pulling the cork out of the bottle, she missed the scrutinizing look he'd shot her, part of his furtive examinations that day. Sure, he'd met her once, thought she was an okay kid—a term he used for anyone under thirty and who wasn't a trained assassin ghosting as a personal assistant in his company. If he'd spoken that thought aloud, he didn't doubt she would have objected to it, given she was nearly twenty-seven. He would've, back in the day. Her wrist splint was gone, all physical traces of her interjection on Halloween healed, though he detected the outline of a knee brace under her jeans. The girl who had offered him coffee, had sniped with him about her landlord, was being held back a little. Out of place, awkward.

Normally, it would be Tony and his friends that were abnormal, but today, the tables had turned. She was the odd one out, so to speak.

"You're holding your own well," he said, catching her eye as she glance back up at him. With a shrug, he tilted his head towards the dining area, where Pepper and Jane were talking. "Even if you're not actually outnumbered."

"Maybe so. Although, I do think I take the cake as most average of the average here," Holly said, self-deprecation bleeding into her words to offset the feelings of inadequacy that she was trying to smother. Pepper Potts was CEO of Stark Industries (no matter how much she dressed down in dark jeans and a green sweater, confidence and power seemed to ooze out of her); Jane Foster was an astrophysicist, scary smart with a strong will to boot. In comparison, she didn't feel like one of the best or the brightest.

Given the way the captain looked at her, though, Tony could surmise that he felt much differently than she did about herself.

Stark's unmitigated gaze didn't waver, even as he snorted. "True enough. You're so normal, it's giving me hives."

That earned him a half smile, though it didn't last long. "What a gem."

"Diamond in the rough, so I'm told," he replied, miming at adjusting an invisible tie and brushing his layered t-shirt clear of wrinkles. Snorting, Holly took a sip of her wine, leaning against her own counter and swirling the drink around her glass when she'd finished.

"Yeah, sure. It's just...I guess I didn't expect to feel welcome. I mean, politeness, sure; I couldn't imagine any of you to be total assholes," she said, cutting off any possibly indignation on his part, "but I didn't think I'd get the sense of...home that I got today."

_'Forthright, isn't she?'_ the billionaire playboy mused to himself, appreciating her honesty. "What, you expected one of us to coldcock you or something?"

"You could've," she pointed out quietly. "I know if you'd wanted to, you could've eviscerated me verbally, leaving me in the dust while you were at it."

That stung slightly, even if it was true. Tony shook his head. "Doesn't matter. You might not be a Mensa applicant, but that doesn't mean you're any less than one of us."

Turning his back on her, his shoulders hunched slightly, distracting himself with picking around a pie off to his left. Over his shoulder, he murmured to her, "Don't let yourself be intimidated. Most of us are still human beings. We're not enemies."

When came down to it, he and the other Avengers were still people. Gloriously screwed up people, but people nonetheless, and Tony could attest to the truth. Money didn't make you untouchable, and whatever armor someone wore didn't make them worth more than the person without it.

"Unless you destroy the world, or him, it's unlikely any of us will really have a problem with you. Hell, one or two of us might actually like you sometime."

"One of you, for sure," she concurred, sending a warm look in the direction of the living room where Steve and Thor were chatting back and forth as the television blared on. It was the football game, and it appeared that Steve was giving the god a few pointers on the gameplay. However, with his information being out of date by seventy years, it seemed that Stark would inevitably have to correct them both. Catching her out, Steve returned her gaze with a smile, his eyes lighting up as he did so, before turning back to the screen. "Natasha still doesn't trust me, and I've known her for awhile."

Tony looked at her sharply. "Natasha wouldn't trust a parachute if she was jumping out of a crashing plane. But that doesn't mean she hasn't warmed up to you, at least a little. And FYI, it took years before she was able to entertain the idea of trusting me, so I wouldn't worry too much about it."

A few seconds of silence settled over them, in which he could almost see the wheels turning in her brain as she digested the words. Shortly, she bobbed her head up and down, swallowing another sip of wine before speaking again.

"I can accept the terms. Though Thor is still a little unwieldy."

Tony smirked. "Well, you did ask him about going all _Runaway Bride_—"

Holly rolled her eyes, groaning, "On principle alone I should hate you for making any reference to that movie."

"You should be grateful that you're able to talk to a man who can make recent-ish pop culture references," he chided her playfully. Shaking her head, Holly bit her lip to keep the grin at bay.

"Regardless of relevancy," she snarked, her expression morphing into a more serious one. In a near whisper, she said, "I will not destroy him."

_'Ah, she caught that. Definitely not stupid, or at least not unobservant.'_ Tony shot her a glance, filled with wistfulness and a touch of pain.

"Road to hell," was all the reply he had, finally working pie and a Pop-Tart on his heretofore abandoned plate, taking a few steps towards the living area. His own experiences came to mind, where he'd nearly gotten Pepper killed due to his own intentions, his own belief that he could protect her from the world. However, he didn't take into account how he hadn't protected her from himself, his own folly. If Holly wasn't careful, she could easily do the same. Not in the grandiose way that he had (he doubted she had a house of her own to have blown to hell under her own feet), but her own vulnerabilities could get Steve in some mighty hot water, if she let herself be blinded by them.

A hand on his bicep preempted him from exiting, stopping him dead in his tracks. Looking down, he saw something hard and deep settle in the young woman's brown eyes, only a shade or two lighter than his own. It held a myriad of emotions, her thoughts roiling around, but the depth of the determination was unfathomable, and the devotion unmistakable.

"No intention to go that way," she promised, uncurling her fingers and heading out first, leaving Tony Stark to either take or leave her words as he so chose, an sort of understanding reached between them without anything else being spoken.

* * *

**A/N:** For the record, I've only been to New York City once in my life. And honestly, I don't have the highest opinion of it (fun to visit, not sure I'd want to live there), but I will say that I thought it was gorgeous at night...even in stifling August heat and with trash piled up on the sidewalk.

Oblique references to _Daredevil_ are oblique. Okay, not a direct reference to the man himself, but...still. I don't own it, I just borrowed it. Same with the other MCU references. And if you don't know that I don't own Pop Tarts, _Spongebob Squarepants _or _Runaway Bride_, then that's on you (still shuddering at the fact that I made reference to a not-so-great chick flick).

_Sleepy Serenade _is, in fact, an Andrews Sisters song. Check it out, if you feel so inclined.

To be honest, if I met Thor, I would ask all kinds of questions about what was true and what wasn't as far as Norse mythology goes. And then I'd get smashed with Mjolnir, but hey, Loki turned into a horse! And gave birth! Come on, how could you let that go?!

Well, all in all, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, please review, and I'll see you next time!


	35. Chapter 35

The team congregated in the main meeting area, each one lost in their own thoughts. Thor stood by one of the windows, staring out over the grand city below as snow drifted lazily downward. Clint, Bruce, and Natasha sat one couch, in varying degrees of contemplation, Barton's leg thrown over one arm of the sofa and his head tipped back to look at the ceiling. Tony and Steve occupied the other, the captain leaning forward with elbows on his knees and Stark settled into the opposite corner with his arms crossed. All were in various states of undress from their uniforms, with only Tony and Bruce in full civilian garb while the others shucked off boots, gloves, and in some cases, capes.

Clearing his throat, Steve found the courage to speak first.

"So, that's it then."

The others said nothing, instead sharing his grim expression of finality. Having just returned from the last assignment, it had been apparent from the outset that they were grasping at the remaining straws in hand.

The batch of apprehended HYDRA agents had been interrogated, but they had shed no further light on the Avengers' ongoing investigations. The organization, with the exception of a few minor cells, had gone completely to ground. There was some hope that a captured militant could tell more about the hidden heads. The least they had found out was that the top brass had scattered, and all important data and equipment had been mined and removed to locations totally undisclosed to the grunts. The heroes, they had sneered, had reached the end of their luck.

Clint nodded eventually. "Unless they decide to deliberately break cover, for whatever reason—"

"And logic would denote that it would have to be a pretty major reason at this point," Bruce muttered quietly.

"—It seems we're right back where we started."

Steve grimaced. Rounding up thugs was hardly new to him, but he had hoped that there would be something more to gain than illicitly mined data and grunt work. Making a difference, stopping the bullies from getting away and gaining ground, that's what he wanted. But it seemed now they were at a standstill, on all sides.

"With mountains of documents left to go through, lest we forget," Nat grumbled. "Assuming that they have anything more to tell us than what we already know. Back to basics, then."

"Well, that's not true, is it?" Tony countered, drumming his fingers on the arm of the sofa. "Sure, the leaders have at least one iota of intelligence, enough to know that resurfacing at this time would be a bad idea, but on the whole, we all know that they won't last long in hiding. Those guys have plans; we've been seeing the coming attractions, but soon enough they'll want to show the picture."

Nat and Clint gave little hums of agreement. Most of the intel they had scavenged went through them, and they had seen for themselves that the HYDRA leaders were plotting on a massive scale. Schematics for armored vehicles, some of which resembled the leviathans from the alien attack, had been drawn up, though it appeared to the note accompanying them that they had been scrapped or swept to the side for the time being. If they were arming for war, they wouldn't want to delay for very long.

"With the scepter in hand, they will surely use it at the first and best opportunity," Thor intoned mildly, the bitter twist invading the words. Two years he had hunted for it, and still he had naught to show for it. Sitting up, Bruce pulled a blanket tight around his shoulders, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"We are back to where we started. The scepter is out of reach," he said, almost thinking out loud. "So, we'll have to go back to what we did before."

Tony picked up on his theme, nodding in as he realized what his colleague was saying. "Reverse sweep for it. Use the analysis we made looking for the cube and turn it back to look for the scepter."

Bruce shrugged, "We've got the tools. They're bound to bring it into range sooner or later if we start looking for it. The records we obtained from SHIELD should give us a head start."

"Some of them. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but SHIELD didn't exactly turn over everything," Natasha cut in, combing back her loose curls. The permanent treatment had worn off, and it was dyed back to its original darker shade of red. Threading her fingers through it, she took the time to think about the likelihood of where the buried SHIELD intel would be. Clint inclined his head, knowing what she said was true, while the other men sported sour looks at her proclamation. She shrugged one shoulder. "It was an intelligence organization with more intelligence hidden deep beneath that. What else did you expect?"

The stony looks thrown her way gave her an idea of what each man exactly thought of it.

Sighing, she continued, "A lot of the equipment you guys used last time has to either be rebuilt or...borrowed."

"Borrowed. From perhaps a storage facility that is hundreds of feet underground and with three foot thick walls?" Steve asked, a corner of his mouth lifting as he turned to Natasha. She returned his smirk, a sly glint lighting her eyes.

"Something like that."

"Well, then, that shouldn't be a problem," he said, shooting her a significant glance. The barest inclination of her head gave acknowledgment to his statement, while he turned his attention back on the group on the whole. "Well, let's make a plan, team."

With Tony and Bruce looking at building the necessary apparatus and analyzing data, Natasha and Clint would take it in turns to rotate on further clean-up missions with Thor and Steve in between separate missions to recover the remaining SHIELD equipment. The entire process could take a couple months, at least, and with constant surveillance and sweeping it would only be a matter of time before they would track down the scepter. It was hard to miss the expression of mixed relief and determination on Thor's face; it had been a long journey for him, but the end was in sight. Goals in mind, the six people separated. Barton and Thor remained behind to talk logistics, while Bruce wandered upstairs to the lab to make a call to a colleague of his in South Korea.

"But surely, Mr. Scrooge, you will let us have at least half a day off for Christmas, won't you?" Tony pleaded with Steve as he followed him down, going so far as to stick out his bottom lip in a mocking fashion. Steve rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help the tiny smile forming on his lips. Natasha ignored both of them, settling against the back wall of the elevator and waited to get to her floor of choice.

"I imagine it will be more than possible," he replied, the concurrent forms of agreement going around. Work would be a little slower now, given how effective they'd been in the field over the last few months. International disasters could crop up, but then again, they'd had good luck with an open Thanksgiving. They would just have to see. As it was, they could afford to break for the next day or two, respond to threats as needed but otherwise recover and recuperate enough to start on the new path. "But...well, one day at a time. Now off with you, Cratchit."

"'God bless us, everyone,'" Tony retorted, poorly imitating a Cockney child's voice. Going off the deadpan look Steve shot him, he changed tack and changed voice. "So then. Back to the wilds of D.C. for you?"

"Tomorrow morning," Steve confirmed, settling his plans as he spoke. As the elevator pinged off every floor they passed, he continued, "I'll talk to Sam, see if I can convince him to let you take a look at his wings. They're in decent shape, but he's definitely interested in adjustments."

The bright glint in Tony's eyes brought Howard to mind, the grin playing around his lips barely restraining excitement. "New toy to play with. Please don't let me down, Cap."

The captain grinned, but made no further promises. If Sam wanted to accompany him into the madness one of these weeks, he'd be welcome to it, but if not, that was his decision.

"And what about Holly?" piped up Nat, gracing him with a pleasant smile.

"Hmm," was his response, his expression turning concerned.

"Yeah," Tony interjected, not getting off even though they'd stopped on his floor. "Got something special on the docket with her? Netflix and chill, perhaps?"

Raising an eyebrow, Steve shot Tony a questioning glance, to which he answered with a wide-eyed, blank expression. Given the tenor of the question asked, and Natasha's stifled snort and the guilty slide of her eyes when he glared at her, Steve got the feeling that whatever the cultural reference was, it certainly wasn't as innocent as it sounded on the surface.

Furrowing his brow, he decided to deliberately force an elaboration. "What?"

"Never mind," Natasha cut in, shaking her head with a wry smirk of her own. Steve exhaled slowly; yes, definitely not innocent in the least.

"Time for you to get off, Stark," he said, gesturing to the long hall that led to Tony's quarters. Shifting his gaze back and forth from the door to the captain, Tony arrived at the decision to not push it for the time being.

"All right, well," he murmured, striding away, "full report on Monday at oh-eight-hundred, soldier."

"Try Tuesday, sir," Steve quipped just as the door of the elevator cut Tony's retort off.

"So what do you have planned? Something fun, or..." Natasha inquired. While she and Holly weren't close by definition, she was glad to see her friend happily involved with someone. Granted, half the time she attempted to play matchmaker with Steve over the last year she was jerking his chain, but it soon became a genuine endeavor. To see him planning ahead, putting in his time with someone, did make her pleased.

Steve scoffed, folding his hands together and settling them on his belt. "It depends."

"On what?"

The elevator slowed in its descent, the doors swishing open on Steve's floor. Stepping off, he shot his teammate a last glance and shrug. "On if she stops throwing up long enough."

"What?" Natasha cried, only to be pulled up short by the swish and closing of the elevator doors before she could stop them.

**xXxXxXx**

True to his word, he had departed from the Tower early the next day, making decent time on the highway before he pulled his bike onto familiar streets. The cold in air whipped around him, freezing, though he could tough it out. He'd survived winters camped along the Austrian mountain ranges, and the countrysides of France and Germany; he could handle Washington, D.C. at its worst wintery stage. Stopping over at home, he managed to catch Sam before he went in for a shift at the VA to discuss details about fixing up his pack. He was more than amenable to the idea, but speculated it couldn't happen until after the holidays: not enough time to get a break away from work to do so for him. Promising to call in and further hammer out the plan, the captain grabbed a few things before heading across town to his second home.

Disarming JARVIS on his way into the building, he shivered as he adjusted to warmth again while climbing the stairs. Perhaps it was time to seriously consider a car, if only for the winter months. He put the thought away as he fished out his spare key, entering the apartment at the end of the hall.

Once inside, Steve made his way into the living room, pausing in his journey long enough to drop his bag and shield next to the couch. Pulling off his coat, he laid it along the arm of sofa, breathing in gently. It was good to be back. A shuffling sound came from the bedroom, almost beckoning him. Carefully, he walked back to the room, pushing the half-shut door all the way open. Leaning against the doorjamb, he crossed his arms over his chest, a grin sneaking onto his lips. The form of his girlfriend was not discernible, save as a lump under the bedclothes. The whole air of the place was disarray, with a few shirts and pants dropped along the sides of the bed, and the comforter wadded up with the sheets hanging loosely at the ends. The pillow he had claimed as his own was pushed to the floor as well, limp and useless as it rested against the nightstand. Part of the lump lifted midway through his examination, seemingly looking in his direction.

"If you're here to rob the joint, take whatever shit you want," Holly's muffled voice groaned, scratchy and tired. "If you're here to kill me, then get it over with."

Stepping fully into the room, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, setting a hand on what he supposed was her ankle. Judging from the way she didn't shy away from his touch or kick out, he surmised that she'd gotten his arrival text; her attempt at being funny fell short of the mark as what he assumed to be her head dropped with a muted thud and a weary sigh came out.

"Not interested in either option, though it is enlightening to know exactly what your contingency plans have been since the last break-in," he murmured, patting her comforter-covered appendage.

"Ugh," was her witty retort. He glanced away, giving a soft chuckle.

"Missed you, too, dear. You feeling any better?" he asked, watching as she shifted beneath the blankets. The stomach bug that had been going around had attacked with a vengeance, felling her after a couple of years of good health. Thinking back to a phone call he'd made the previous evening, he was glad to see that she was no longer as attached to her bathroom as she'd told him she'd been.

"Not really. Well, slightly less gross than yesterday, I guess."

He nodded, tugging on her leg a little. "Mind showing your face, Cotton Lump?"

Another groan followed, but she began to move more. "Fine, but if you run off screaming into the night, it's not my fault."

Sitting up, she finally pulled the blankets away. Her face was pale, with circles under her eyes as a testament to the sleep-deprived night she'd had. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, strands pulled free of the binder and hanging in her face. Bundled in an old red flannel shirt, the cuffs flapped over her hands as she brought them up to tuck back her hair. She certainly didn't look well, but she wasn't hideous. Scooting closer, Steve impulsively reached out, tipping her chin up and touching her face. She was a little warmer than usual, but not feverish.

"You been able to drink or eat anything yet?" he wondered.

Indicating the empty cup on her nightstand, she answered, "Yes to the first, when I can, and hell no to the second. What goes in, inevitably comes back out. Rapidly."

Blinking against the rapid mental images that cropped up, he shook his head.

"Have I ever told you how much I admire your candor?"

She snickered at that. "It's a blessing."

"It's something else, all right. Think you could try to keep something down?"

"Maybe some crackers," she murmured, fingers twisting at the sheets in her lap. Curiously, he waited for her to pick up the thread. "Are you sure you don't wanna...I mean, I don't want you to get sick."

"Doll." It was kind of her to think of his health, but to be honest he hadn't been sick once since he'd gotten the serum. Shot, stabbed, scratched and banged up, sure, but common colds and viruses steered clear of him. His advanced metabolism had eradicated his prior existing health conditions, and completely eliminated any that he could have possibly picked up afterward. It was a heady experience, being able to survive cold and flu season unscathed.

"Hey, this could be some form of super virus," she continued, hand coming to rest on her stomach. "It starts off small, but then it becomes something so strong it could take even you down."

He just looked at her, an eyebrow raised and his lips pulled into the barest glimmer of a smirk.

"Or it's just a stomach bug. Yeah, yeah, I get it, you immune, serum-enhanced jerk," she groused. Brushing a thumb along her jaw, Steve rolled his eyes.

"Such sweetness. That's what makes me keep coming back. Water, then," he said, moving to pick up the glass and fill it for her. A tug on his sleeve stopped him briefly.

"Another tab or two of Imodium wouldn't hurt, either," she confessed, grimacing and raising a shoulder in question. He nodded, standing swiftly.

"Coming up in a jiffy."

A short time later, Steve had persuaded her to join him on the couch, arm around her waist and steering her gently into the living room. In the time between her inevitable trips to the bathroom, he took to tidying up the house a bit while she munched on crackers and watched a little bit of television, the blanket pulled from the back of the couch onto her legs. He did this against her weak protests, wanting to make things at least a little easier for her while she recovered. With the laundry machine chugging away, churning up the sheets and leftover clothes, he would check in on her every so often, finding her asleep a couple of times. Once the house was in order, he set some more medicine and a few tolerable foodstuffs on the coffee table before taking a place on the couch, her head pillowed on his thigh and his fingers brushing through her hair.

Speaking of work kept her interest, distracted her from the rumbling of her stomach, and so he described a little of the plan that he and the others would be following, without giving too much away. He knew better than to drop too much information (Fury's planted bugs had taught him a harsh lesson), but he was able to give her something of an idea of what was going on. In turn, she described how her mother had called about Christmas gift ideas, late as ever with her shopping, which in turn reminded Holly that she was behind, too. Otherwise, it appeared that her family was doing fine, for the most part.

"Mmm, I should get on that, too," he remarked absently, making a tally of what he thought people might like in his head.

"You're a pretty decent nurse," she murmured after some time, when the talk petered out and they chose to watch whatever movie was on television. Pulling his attention away from the thriller involving two magicians and their dangerous rivalry, he glanced down and caught her gesture towards the things he'd set out for her and to herself.

"Been on both sides enough, I was bound to pick up a few things," he explained dryly. After all, when one lived with a nurse, one was going to learn a thing or two, especially when she was one's mother. That had been a great help, particularly when he was in the field on a mission with no nurse to attend to any wounds obtained along the way.

"Guess so," Holly responded, snuggling a little closer to him. "Thanks for helping out, and sticking around. I know I'm not the best of company right now. I promise, next time you come home, I'll be less disgusting."

He chuckled softly, dropping his hand to her shoulder. "It's no trouble, and you're not disgusting."

Grinning up at him, she reached up and patted his fingers. "Sweet man. Wish I could kiss you for that."

"Well, on the off-chance you're right about carrying a super virus, you should probably hold that thought."

She giggled, "Rain check, then."

With the evening closing in on them, they settled for a night of delivery and movies (when Steve mentioned the phrase, 'Netflix and chill', Holly had scoffed and stated that she was in no state for such a thing. When she explained why, Steve made a mental note to give Tony a good punch in the arm for getting fresh the next time he saw him). Holly settled for the crust on the pizza, which left more than enough of the pie for him. Quickly, she was dropping off to sleep again, pulling herself together after a tough day yesterday. This time, she put up the barest objection when Steve gathered her in his arms, carrying her to bed and depositing her in clean sheets. He'd thought he'd stay up a little while longer, maybe work on a few sketches in his nearly-filled book and let her get her rest.

Pulling up the comforter over her, he nearly missed her next words, but the strength behind them compelled him to listen.

"Love you, Steve," she pronounced carefully, eyelids drooping lower and lower. Stunned, he froze in his ministrations, his head swiveling so quickly it was a wonder he didn't get whiplash from doing so.

"I..." he started, his tongue stumbling and his mouth going dry. She said, she said...and he...well...

Struggling to think of something, anything, to say, his heart gave a great leap as that single sentence reverberated in his mind. _She_ loved him She loved _him_. She _loved _him.

He knew. Did she know?

When his voice finally returned, the warmth in his heart cooled somewhat when he noticed that she had completely dropped off.

Sighing, and cursing the return of his terrible timing, he muttered, "Of course."

And stay up later he did, but with nary a thought directed towards his original plans.

**xXxXxXx**

Unable to stay abed any longer, Steve stumbled out to the main area the next morning, looking for something to help him clear his head. Noting the date, the seventh of December, Steve pulled his laptop out of his bag, stationing himself at the table and conducting a quick search. After a few clicks, an old, grainy video on the screen. Though the quality was nothing like modern films, he could still hear and see what he needed to see clearly: the stately man at the podium, his voice strong and his words hitting home.

"_...December seventh, 1941, a date which will live in infamy..."_

He'd heard FDR's speech on the radio so many years ago, the words resonating across time and planting him back in that tiny apartment in Brooklyn, Bucky and the rest of the Barnes family gathered around, listening in silence. Seventy-three years ago, the world had changed. The world was at war, and he hadn't known what to think of it at the moment. Later, yes, but at that precise moment, he could only sit and wonder what it would mean for him, for the future.

_Much like now,_ he mused to himself, leaning forward with his elbows on the table, directly against his mother's commands. _Everything changes, shifts to something new. And you either hold on as hard as you can, or it smacks you around._

The speech played on, background noise to his internal struggle. It had just caught him off-guard, her words, and he didn't know how to respond. Well, he did know, but...getting the words out, he couldn't do it. At least, not on time. There was no going back, no denying how she felt. Unless...unless, she hadn't meant to say it. His heart rebelled at his mind putting out such a thought, hating himself for the doubt.

"I meant it." His gaze flew up from the screen to the kitchen archway. Holly stood there, clad in t-shirt and clean sweatpants, a little more color in her face. On the mend, but not all the way there. The light in her eyes, the curve of her face even in repose, filled him with such deep emotion it was impossible to hold back on it.

"What?" he asked, forcing himself to concentrate. Had he spoken his thoughts out loud? If he did...oh, boy.

"What I said last night. I did mean it, just in case you thought..." she clarified, glancing down at her feet briefly. Guiltily he shifted his gaze back to the edge of the computer screen, but when he looked up at her again, he saw no recrimination in her eyes. Just the same steadfast admiration, a look he realized she only ever directed at him. "I do love you, Steve."

His blue eyes stared back, unwavering. Again, he found himself tongue-tied and resenting himself for it. Why couldn't he say anything, _do_ anything? It was so overwhelming. She must think that he didn't...

Quietly, she slipped across the room to him, hesitating minutely before bending down and giving him a kiss on the temple. Sliding her fingers through his hair, she just gave him a watery grin as Steve threw his arms around her waist, hugging her gently.

"Holly," he croaked, the words thick with everything he couldn't name, her name acting as an anchor so he wouldn't get swept away. Pulling away, she bent down again to give him another peck.

"It's okay. I'm here when you're ready," she whispered, gingerly walking out of the room and out of his sight. Putting his face in his hands, he tried his damnedest to get a grip. Stymied for a moment or two, Steve's mind caught up with him, forcing him to get out of the chair and go to his phone, plugged in and sitting off to the side. With shaking fingers, he tapped the screen, hoping the call would connect.

A click, and shifting on the other end, and then: "This better be good, if you're calling before 9 AM."

"Sarah."

Silence came, and then the young woman's voice came back, incredulous. "Steve? Why are you calling me?"

"I...need your help with something."

* * *

**A/N:** Pardon me, there's my exit...excuse me while I drop a bomb or two on you. :-P

Yep. She said it first. Where Steve goes from here will be revealed in time. Please speculate to your hearts' content!

Don't own any references to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Nor do I own the references to _A Christmas Carol_ or _The Prestige, _or FDR's speech, which is very powerful in its own right.

I know, I went for a cheap "Netflix and chill" joke. Yes, I'm guilty. I should probably feel bad about what I've done...but...sorry, I don't!

A couple of you have asked me if I have specific person/actress in my head for Holly. Since I haven't really addressed that, I will give you a straight answer. The truth is, I don't. I mean, yes, I do have a mental model of what she looks like, but physically, I don't have an actress or someone else that I based her off of. Nobody really famous, I can tell you that. Hope that answered the question (feel free to ask me questions you have about the story, if you have any. You can always PM me, guys).

Well, all in all, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, please review, and I'll see you next time!


	36. Chapter 36

The quinjet banked softly at the end of the runway, snow swirling and drifting as the aircraft rolled towards the discreet hangar at the end. Just inside the hangar bay, a baggage transport cart was waiting, the driver watching in awe as the sleek jet began to lower its opening, the passengers within half hidden in shadow. Though they were expected, it was still quite a sight.

"When should I swing back? Twenty-seventh or twenty-eighth?" the pilot queried, her voice a little strained. Her red hair was tucked behind her ears, a headset still in place. The other passenger shouldered a duffle bag, a disk-shaped one clutched in his left hand. Yawning, she continued, "Should everything stay stable, I mean."

The fellow shrugged, adjusting the strap of the duffle bag as he did so. "Provided the world isn't in crisis beforehand, twenty-eighth."

Natasha Romanoff pulled off her headset, turning the chair to face the captain as he prepared to go. Somehow, against the odds, their luck had held. The Avengers could afford to take time off and celebrate the holidays. With their energies turned towards tracking the scepter and waiting for it to make a blip on the radar, they could all take a chance to breathe, to get their footing. Patience would be their ally (though it certainly wasn't a virtue they all shared). The group had scattered after they confirmed that it would be okay to leave the Tower for an extended period of celebration. Clint disappearing into the unknown two days ago, Thor was somewhere in London with Bruce accompanying him, and Tony had whisked Pepper off to Paris before anyone could stop him. Herself, she would be content to keep to the Tower, to immerse herself in the quiet. And with Steve keeping his end of the bargain he'd made back in November, she would get to do so, at least for a few days.

"Good. Plenty of time, then," she responded, glancing backwards with a tiny grin. "Land of one thousand lakes…and you come right in the middle of the season where you can't see any of them."

"My timing has always been hit or miss." The captain smirked, coming back to her side and throwing his arm around her shoulders in a companionable hug. "Good-bye. Merry Christmas, Natasha."

"_С Рождество́м,_ Steve," she murmured, patting his wrist. She hoped he'd like the present she'd stowed away in his bag: a brand new Fossil watch. She figured he could appreciate it, in multiple ways. Looking up at him, she caught the flash of nervousness in his countenance, and just as he made his way to depart she called out, "Good luck."

Steve saluted her, touching a couple fingers to his forehead and waving as he disembarked, pushing on sunglasses and a knit cap as he clambered onto the waiting baggage cart, hitching a ride incognito as it were. Giving the driver a polite nod, they exchanged very little by way of pleasantries as they moved out of the hangar into the icy air. Hugging his arms to his chest and pulling his heavy coat tighter, he did the same for Natasha's words as they sped towards the main airport. Luck was finicky, but he hoped it would be on his side.

Slipping in a back entrance, past the security points and with minimal fuss, Steve came out at the baggage corral several minutes later, keeping his head down and striding purposefully, scanning the area. Soon enough, he found what he was looking for in the pickup and drop-off area. Holly was sitting on a far bench with her legs crossed, bags on the floor and her head bowed over her phone. Her wool coat was wide open, revealing the battered sweatshirt underneath. For once, her hair was loose, the winter hat she's brought draped across her lap along with her mittens. As he'd had to fly directly from the city, she'd gotten her own ticket, her flight scheduled to come in around the same time as his. Apparently, her plane had made better time (he wasn't sure how, though considering how long Natasha had argued with Maria over who was going to fly him out might have been a factor in him being the later party).

As she shifted her gaze from her phone up, she caught sight of him, her wide smile lighting her eyes as she immediately dropped it into her pocket and got up to meet him.

The words Steve had in his heart were on the tip of his tongue, waiting to be said. When he was ready, she'd told him, she'd listen. In the days that had followed her confession, it was a little awkward here and there, but otherwise they had carried on as before. Except nothing was as it was before; she'd found her courage first, had beaten him to the punch. And well, he didn't just want to say it offhand, like it didn't mean anything. Like how so many people around him said it without feeling, without truth. The opportune moment was coming, and he knew it. He just needed to get there.

"How long were you waiting?" he asked, warming up as he gathered her into his arms. Breathing deep, the scent of her shampoo tickled his nose, settled his nerves somewhat.

She shrugged, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "It's been about an hour since I landed, but, eh, I made use of the time. I've gotten so far in Candy Crush."

"Yeah, about that...Tony texted me to tell you to stop sending requests," Steve remarked, raking a hand through his hair and sitting down with her. His other arm snaked around her shoulders, bringing her in close so he could give her a quick kiss.

When they'd finished, she blinked and then snickered. Tony never should have friended her back with his private Facebook page. "Oops."

To elaborate, Steve retrieved his phone from his pocket, scrolling through the most recent messages. "Ah, here's one: 'I'll give her my CC info to buy stuff if it'll make her leave me alone, for the love of God.'"

"Huh. Just that easy?" she wondered facetiously, tapping her chin in thought. "Well, damn, I should've started doing that a long time ago; I've got my eye on this really neat tablet, and if he contributed..."

He smirked, but let it slide. He looked out towards the windows facing the pickup area. People huddled in their coats darted around cars. A shiver went down his spine in anticipation of going back out again.

"So this is Minnesota," he murmured, taking in the airport's glass and standard model walls, casting another look at the swirling snow outside. "It's...cold."

Much of his cross-country tour back in the day had been a blur, one city after another, and he could honestly say that he couldn't recall ever coming there before. Certainly not in the middle of winter, he knew. Not that he wasn't able to handle it (he grew up in New York, after all), but from what he could see so far, there wouldn't be much by the way of windbreaks in the Midwestern state.

"Yep. Welcome to the frozen tundra. It gets better the further away you get from the airport," she commented wryly, tugging at the loose scarf around her neck. Reaching up to brush back her hair, he bent down for another kiss, bumping noses as an interrupting shout caused them both to jump in their seats.

"Holly!" Turning, her face lit up as an older couple made their way towards their bench. Recognizing them right away, Steve felt his stomach tie into a couple of knots. Lisa and Paul Martin, Holly's parents.

Due to the distance and the increasing demands of his job, they had yet to meet one another in person, but Holly had arranged a couple of video chats between them and her parents prior to the holidays. Given that he was, in essence, bring their daughter more and more under public scrutiny, her dad had reasoned it was the least they could all do. For the most part, they seemed like decent people, but this trip would give him the opportunity to know for sure.

Lisa immediately went for her daughter, drawing her up out of her seat with a tight hug. Her dark blonde hair swung down her back, her tired blue-green eyes brightening as she held her girl close. She was a little shorter than Holly herself, but she held herself with confidence, with pride. Paul Martin sidestepped the pair, instead going straight for Steve. He looked decent for his age, his dark hair peppered with gray along with his beard, his back straight. His eyes, only a shade darker than Holly's, looked him over appraisingly, measured him up. A contractor by profession, he was examining him well, gaze flicking as if he could pick out aberrations in Steve as well as qualities like on a building project.

"Hello there, Steven."

_Steven._ Oh, boy. He smiled weakly at Paul's greeting, reminding himself to make some form of polite gesture and putting his hand out.

"I-it's good to see you both," he said, unable to keep the slight stammer out of his words. See, he could handle HYDRA and rogue agents, even aliens set on Earth's destruction; it was the normal situations of life that he still found himself unprepared for. At his age, he chided himself, this shouldn't be the case. But it was bizarre all around, given how he was technically older than all of them, and he still felt like a tongue-tied teenager. Paul gave him a warm smile, shaking his hand and nodding. His wife came up then, grasping his hand in both of hers, enthusiastic in her expression and movements. Her grip was gentle, her fingers warm compared to his cold grasp.

"We're glad we get to meet you in person, finally," the older woman said, eyes creasing at the corners. "Holly mentioned that you almost weren't able to make it."

Turning his head, he saw Holly minutely shake hers in return. She didn't give anything more away, and he was glad for it. It would be better for all if he went into bare minimum in regards to work details.

"I was able to work things out," he explained, noticing the curious glances being sent their way. A few people had begun to stare at him, as if trying to place him from somewhere. It was time to get moving. Carefully he began to gather his things, with Holly following his lead and edging towards the nearest door. "Guess you could say I'm on-call for the holidays, Mrs. Martin."

"Call me Lisa," she told him, slipping her hand into the crook of her husband's elbow and keeping on the younger couple's heels. Motioning with her free hand, she directed them back to the car, its hazards flashing down a few feet from the entrance. "Well, we're glad to have you, even if you do have to run off and save the world tomorrow."

"I don't think things will get that dire that quickly," he murmured, belatedly tacking on, "Lisa."

Piling the bags into the trunk of the car (along with some groceries Lisa had grabbed on the way to the airport), all four adults got into the cab, Holly's father driving and adding a few comments here and there as his wife and daughter chatted about the events over the next couple of days. The Martins weren't ones to insist on big holiday blow-outs, but a good number of the immediate family would be there for the festivities, including her sister and nephews, coming in from Iowa. Content to watch the road drift by, Steve was secretly pleased that he wasn't rushing off to meet HYDRA along the way. He noticed that as he drove east, the hills gave way to a few bluffs, evidence of the closeness to the Mississippi River. The suburb her parents lived in fell on the other side of St. Paul, so it would take them around twenty minutes before they'd arrive.

The voices filtered around him, pulling him back in when her mother tapped on the middle console idly, her tone changing slightly.

"The downstairs room is ready to go, same with your old bedroom, Holly."

Holly looked up, her tone sharp as she breathed, "Mom."

"House rules. It was the same with Heather and Jake, and before Hank married Ashley," Paul responded quietly, negotiating a right turn. He glanced back in the rearview mirror, his eyes locking with his youngest daughter's identical gaze. "We've talked about this."

They had, a few times over the past years, but ultimately, Holly's folks had won the argument. It was one of the few hard and fast rules that her parents had set, but it still chafed. As much as she loved her mom and dad, she very much differed with them on this point; she and Steve had already been sharing a bed for some time, in between his stints in New York and around the world. Not to mention she was on course and heading towards her thirties. She was going to fight them on it.

"Yes, but I don't think the seven-year-old will appreciate having to share a room," she grumbled, her fingers lacing with Steve's suddenly. Under her breath, she muttered, "Amongst other things."

Whether or not her father caught the last part, he was unsure, but he did detect a narrowing of his gaze. Time to do damage control, and fast. Clearing his throat, Steve shook his head minutely, warning Holly off of piping up in further protest. The questioning glare she'd shot him quelled slightly, but her eyebrows still rose slightly.

"It's okay," he said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. He didn't want to get off on the wrong foot with his girl's parents; it wasn't his place to disrespect their wishes, if what they were asking for was no real hardship. Forgoing waking up with her next to him certainly wasn't preferred, but they would make do. "That sounds fine. Though you didn't have to go to the trouble."

Lisa tutted, waving her fingers absently. "It's no trouble, Steve."

"Yeah, it could be you bunking with Hank instead," her dad said. "And wouldn't that be awkward?"

Steve chuckled feebly, more than a little wary of the idea of spending prolonged, isolated time with the brother of his girlfriend. The brother who, he gathered from the very little that Holly told him, did not care all that much for him dragging his sister around, putting her in dangerous situations and inciting the paparazzi's interest in her life. Unavoidable as it was, Hank had expressed distaste in her continued insistence to be with such a public figure, though Steve could understand he did so more out of worry for her than any actual contempt for his character.

There was a meeting he wasn't looking forward to.

Again, he drifted out of focus, blaming it on nonexistent jet lag rather than just a need to relax and not be on high alert at all times. Eventually, they rolled into a neighborhood, several prefabricated homes on one court, and different models on the opposite side of the road. To Steve's relief, they turned onto the road with differing houses; one thing he didn't like about this new century was all the similar-looking homes. They were _so _boring; very much lacking in creativity as far as design went. Tony called them cookie-cutter houses, and he completely agreed on that point.

As the car pulled into the driveway off the middle of a cul-de-sac, his gaze directed itself to the split level in light blue, the slate of the shingles peeking out through the snow. A front walk curved around the garage, where a Chevy truck was parked along the side. The front door flew open, a blur of red check and streaming strawberry blonde hair rushing towards them. Quickly, Paul put the car in park, and Steve caught the huge smile blooming on Holly's lips. Giving his hand one last squeeze, she pulled out of his grasp, unbuckling her belt and jumping out of the car as fast as she could while scooping up her carry-on bag. Following suit, albeit it at a slower pace, Steve watched as she hustled over the child, scooping her up and swinging her around. The little girl squealed, and Steve felt his lips pull into a tiny grin at the sight.

"Aunt Holly!" he heard her yelp over Holly's groaning laughter. Turning his attention to Lisa, he quietly inquired if he could help her carry anything as he gathered up the suitcases.

"Thank you, but I think I've got it. You have your hands full, anyway," she remarked, pleased at his polite offer. The grocery bags fit snugly in her hands, though she did give Paul a significant look. The older man went to him, prying out the duffle from his grip. Before he could protest, the fellow moved away.

"You're a guest, Steven. You don't have to fetch and carry for all of us," he muttered, following his wife into the house and patting his granddaughter on the head as he went by. Holly had crouched at eye level, listening to the kid's animated descriptions of the toy her mother had sent with her.

"And it's so cool, it lights up and flies around the house, with spinning wings! You gotta see it! I wanted to launch it in the yard but Daddy…" she trailed off, her eyes darting to the big man standing directly behind her Aunt Holly. Glancing over her shoulder, Holly smiled and rose out of her crouch.

"It sounds really cool, kiddo," she said, clearing her throat. Off of the little girl's inquisitive stare, she went on, "Jodie, this is my, uh, friend, Steve."

"Your _boyfriend,_" the little girl stressed in a teasing tone, giggling as she gave her aunt a poke on the arm. Turning her attention to him, she craned her neck back to examine Steve for a moment, just like her grandpa had done. Seemingly deciding on something, she strode right up to him, extending a hand. "Hiya, Steve."

"Hello, Jodie," he replied, bending slightly at the waist and shaking her hand. He shot an amused look at Holly. "Forthrightness runs in the family, I see."

"Like you wouldn't believe," came a new voice, in a deep, rich tone. Straightening up, Steve found himself eye to eye with a young man, scruff covering his jaw and a few strands of his dark hair falling over his forehead as he regarded the newcomers. Holly's brother Hank looked a little careworn, but he managed a polite smile and incline of his head for his sister's partner. Shrugging hard against a breeze in his thin flannel shirt and jeans, he looked down at the little girl with a softened expression. "Okay, honey, back in the house."

"But, Daddy..."

"Later. Come on, now. You'll turn into an icicle out here. You can show your aunt that spinning fairy thing."

"Yeah. And Nana made cookies, so we can have some now that you're here!" Jodie said, grabbing Holly's hand and towing her towards the door. Casting a glance over her shoulder, Holly tried to pause long enough to reassure him or even greet her brother, but both men shook their heads and grinned, letting the seven-year-old have her way. Steve could manage the luggage on his own, and Hank could wait a bit to officially say hello to his sister. Once the pair was safely indoors, the two men faced one another, blue and hazel eyes sizing one another up.

"Captain," Hank said, nodding by way of greeting. His tone was cool, but not frigid; that was a good sign, he thought. Steve returned the gesture.

"Hank. Nice to meet you."

He watched as the other man's eyes shifted around him. "Well, doesn't look like you were followed. That's good."

Steve wasn't sure what to say to that, so he kept his mouth shut. Maybe this wasn't going to go as smoothly as he hoped. Hank shrugged his shoulders again, heaving out a sigh.

"Look, I'm too old to do the 'big brother' thing, and you are definitely too old to be hearing it," he started, ignoring the Captain's frown, "and more to the point, Holly's not going to like it if I do. So this is all I'm gonna say: for some reason, you make her happy. You better damn well keep it that way. We clear?"

Steve almost glared, an eyebrow inclining. Not a bully, he reminded himself, just a concerned brother. "Crystal."

"Great. Because if you break her heart, I'm not sure I'd survive coming after you," Hank replied, tilting his head to the left, mimicking his sister unconsciously. "Much better to do a preemptive strike."

"Depends on the situation," the captain muttered, smirking at the younger man's bluntness and self-deprecation. It ran in the family, all right. Chuckling under his breath, Hank jerked a shoulder towards the door, waiting for Steve to follow him in.

"Sounds like a story is behind that. Which I will definitely be glad to hear after getting some cookies."

"Uh…okay," Steve remarked, hot on his heels. Breaking even as far as meeting the family thus far, he breathed a slow sigh as he ventured into the house. Not bad, not good…but things could change. It was going to be an interesting six days here.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, I'm late. Late again. September, as it turns out, is a surprisingly busy month for me, with nearly all of my weekends spoken for. And weekends have been, often enough, the time I post new chapters. So the next few will be midweek chapters. And I was on the struggle bus in regards to this chapter. I hope you guys like it; I really, really tried to do okay with it.

Also, yes. Christmas fluff will be happen, for a couple chapters. For those seeking adventure and non-stop action, I'll have to direct you back to the main page. Not every moment in life is filled to the brim with explosions and high stakes car chases, not even in the life of a superhero. I'm saying this because sometimes people read a story and expect tons of things to happen that the author did not plan, and then they wonder why it's not showing up. But if you enjoy the fluff...sink in the marshmallowy goodness of it all!

Had to use an online translator for Nat's one sentence, because I definitely don't know any Russian. _С Рождество́м-_Merry Christmas_._

Also, concerning something that hasn't happened yet...but just be patient. ;)

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	37. Chapter 37

As the early hours of Christmas Eve slipped by, Steve found himself staring up at the ceiling in his room, into the darkness. Peace, calm, quiet.

The basement bedroom that was to be his for the duration of their stay was pretty nice, all things considered. About fifteen years ago, Paul had set about finishing the entire basement so that the girls would no longer have to share a bedroom, the result producing an additional bathroom and a rec area respectively as well (Steve was tempted to try out the pool table right then, but he brushed it off for the time being). Due to it being slightly colder down there even with the heat on, the bed was heaped with blankets, a large quilt overtop it. It lacked windows, so when he shut off the lamps it was like being trapped in a cave. Some framed pictures of the family and past trips adorned the walls, and an empty dresser stood waiting for his things. Despite being tucked in the far corner of the lowest part of the house, it wasn't all that bad. Sure, the bed was a little lower to the ground than he liked, but at least it was less like marshmallow fluff than the mattress back at Holly's place.

When they had arrived the day before, the house was very much humming below the surface, the spark of activity being held back as the newcomers settled in. After getting some dinner, Steve sat back, observing Holly's family as they interacted with one another. Though Hank had been frosty to him, he was definitely a warmer side, something he showed outright to his mother and daughter, as he snatched cookies from the pan as he scooped them away from Lisa and handed one off to the little girl, conspirators both. Paul kept a steady eye over everyone, though he rarely interjected. For some reason, the mental image of him hiding behind a newspaper and letting the family run around him came to his mind; Paul strongly reminded Steve of Mr. Barnes, a memory that made his heart ache as well as warmed it.

Lisa took some getting used to. It had been quite some time since Steve had been under the full weight of someone's mothering, but she was making up for the lack. She bounced from person to person, making sure that they were happy, and as the one of the guests, she was paying close attention to him. It wasn't completely smothering, but it was overwhelming for her to be right there, insisting he take as much food as he wanted, and to tell her more about how he and his mother used to celebrate the holidays in the past.

Holly looked so at ease there, even when her brother brought up a couple of embarrassing stories as they traded past Christmas experiences. Not that she was overly tense all the time (it seemed like years had passed since she acted awkward or shy in his presence), but there was a peace she found here that he hadn't seen back east.

They hadn't probed him about his work, about being Captain America, not the adults, at least (Jodie was practically vibrating with excitement when they told her about his superhero status, and the questions came flying so fast, he only understood about one in three). Cautiously, he inquired about their lives, their jobs, but they left his life alone, apart from what he was willing to share. After asking, Holly theorized that it was because they didn't want to pry.

"That might by my fault. I've basically demanded they respect your privacy, and the Avengers' privacy, before we came out here," she'd confessed, combing through her hair and flashing him an apologetic look. "I get that you can't talk about some things, and that's what I told them. Sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for," he'd replied, letting out a slow breath. "It just seemed odd that…"

"That they're not neck deep in your business? Frankly, that's not the point of us being here, so they won't dig into it," she murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "But if you'd like, I could prompt Hank to ask you some very interesting questions."

"No thank you," he responded flatly, earning a chuckle and another quick kiss from her. And they left it at that.

Things were still a little tense, but he was becoming more and more at ease with these people as he spent time with them. It made him glad that he would not be alone for the holiday, that he was, for intents and purposes, welcomed by the family. Maybe someday they would think of him as more than just a newcomer. That was an encouraging thought, no matter if they did it for his sake or Holly's.

A creak echoed from the upstairs, putting him on alert. Half sitting up, he listened harder, forcing himself to breathe quietly. An intruder, here? The footfalls were light, treading down his way. As they came down the basement stairs, they paused upon a thump against the far wall. A muffled curse met his ears before the steps resumed. Soon enough, the tiniest scratch came at his door.

"It's just me," a feminine voice whispered, and immediately Steve relaxed. Before he was able to call her to come in, Holly cracked the door open, slinking in and shutting it behind her as silently as possible.

"Holl, what are you doing?" he asked, fumbling to find the lamp in the dark. Switching it on, they both winced at the sudden brightness. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he noticed she was back in her red flannel shirt and sleep shorts, hair ruffled by sleep even with it being held by a binder.

She shrugged, padding over to him. Without prompting, he moved over, allowing her the room to sit beside him. Taking the invitation further, she tucked her legs under the sheets, mock shivering against the coolness of the room. He snorted and rolled his eyes; she had a perfectly good pair of sweatpants packed, it was her fault if she froze her sleep.

"Couldn't help it, I'm too excited."

The corner of his mouth lifted. "Christmas isn't until tomorrow, you know."

"Exactly my point. It's right there, I can't wait," she said, her voice reflecting the giddiness she was feeling. Leaning forward, she slid her hand along his shoulder, a couple fingers sweeping beneath the collar of his shirt. "And I wanted to see you."

"You saw me all day," he pointed out, reaching out and pulling her closer.

"Not the same and you know it," she retorted, snuggling into his embrace, her head tucked neatly under his chin. Sighing, he silently conceded the point. Even with him being willing to comply with her parents' wishes in regards to sleeping separately, he didn't have many opportunities here to hold her, kiss her, unless they managed to get a moment by themselves. Given how much time they spent apart back east, he was familiar with the ache of not having her near, but to have her so close and yet so far…

"At least I now know what will get you out of bed at four in the morning," he remarked, attempting to sound nonchalant but failing as her hands kept tracing lightly over his chest and across his back. Swallowing hard, he felt his eyelids close as she found her way beneath the shirt, nails scraping tenderly over his back and leaving tingling trails behind on his skin.

"Well, you are pretty irresistible," she said, gasping softly as he began to gently sweep his fingers under the hem of the sleepshirt, ghosting over her stomach. Giggling, she continued, "How I've contained myself until now, I have no idea."

His eyes cut away, his head shaking in rueful denial. "Whatever you say."

Her expression grew serious then, and she raised herself onto one elbow, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it. "One of these days, you'll believe me. Maybe you'll see what I see."

Pulling back, he met her gaze directly, incredulous. Holly didn't flinch, didn't shy away. She'd cottoned on to his deflections long ago, and while she put up with them at the time, she was in no mood to do it now. Steve was a good man, better than most, but for some reason, he never thought of himself well. At least, not since she'd known him. He stood by his actions, did what he felt was right, but when it came to himself, he just ignored it, rolled over it.

Because, in truth, when he looked in the mirror, he still saw the sickly little guy, the one who ran his mouth once too often, weaker than everyone. And his appearance now…it still only seemed halfway real at times. Just the kid from Brooklyn, the person that the world didn't want to know about.

But Holly knew him, saw him. She had reached out to the little guy that he still was on the inside, gave him her heart without expectations. What she saw was worthwhile, and it made all the difference.

In that moment, he made his decision, and Steve sat up fully.

"Can you do something for me?" he asked, dropping his gaze to the blankets. His palms started to sweat a little as his heart began to thump. Taking his fingers from her grasp, he wiped them discreetly.

"Sure." Her brow had furrowed, her tone questioning.

"Go to my bag, get what's in the outside pocket," he told her. Carefully, she got out of the bed, shuffling over to the duffle in question and giving it a joking poke before removing the small package tucked in it. It was wrapped in plain parcel paper, and rather small. In the dim glow of the lamp, her eyes glittered.

"Steve, what is this?"

"Something. For you. Go ahead," Steve murmured, pulling the blankets off his laps and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He rose, pacing to the far wall, suddenly too nervous to sit still. The original intention was to wait until Christmas Day proper, after all the other presents they had shipped up there had been opened, but he could not wait any longer.

Letting out a little hum of exhilaration, Holly waited until she had taken her seat on the mattress again before tearing into the plain wrapping paper. The chink of metal on metal caught her attention, and she shot him an inquisitive glance as she revealed the small, white box. Lifting the lid, she stared down into it. After a couple of seconds, she slowly lifted the chain nestled in the gauze; the tags attached swung as she withdrew them fully. They glinted in the light, the rust having been polished off after years of being in storage. Palming them, she traced the pad of her index finger over the stamped letters, the metal warming to her touch.

Blood type, name, state, religion…Holly took it all in silently.

"They're my old tags. From..." he trailed off, taking a few steps towards her, his sleep pants shifting over his ankles. They were his first pair, from his time before the serum. A kid from Brooklyn, given a chance, doing what he wanted to do. Being a soldier, fighting for the people who needed help, for his country. Receiving them meant he could do what other men were doing, that even if he died defending others (because after all, that's what the tags were for: identifying the soldiers unlucky enough to die in battle), he was given the opportunity to do right. In the past, they meant much more than he ever thought a couple pieces of metal ever could.

Once he'd been given the serum, new ones were stamped, and the old pair was relegated to an old locker, along with his old dress uniform—what was left of it, anyway. Having been part of the rescue of his goods from the historical society, he'd pulled them out several weeks ago (along with Dad's Purple Heart, which had a proud place on his wall at home), cleaned them up. At the time, he had no obvious reason for retrieving those as well, but soon enough, he'd thought of a use for them.

"For the longest time, I hoped to get my own set, like Dad's. And I didn't care how I got them, just so long as I did. They showed that I was allowed to protect what I cared about. They meant so much to me," he told her, a wealth of emotion in his voice. Crossing back to her, he lifted the chain out of her hands, carefully looping it around her neck. The dog tags settled on her chest, and as she reached up to touch them, he captured her hands in his, thumbs brushing over her knuckles. "I want you to have them."

"Thank you," she whispered, her dark eyes scanning his face. A touch of humor invaded her voice as she went on, "But why give them to me? Other than because you have a new set."

His half-grin settled briefly on his lips, dropping away slowly. Gathering his courage, Steve took one deep breath before answering. "Because…because I don't need them to remind me what I have to protect. I know exactly what that is now."

A beat of silence passed, and then…

"I love you."

The words hovered in the air between them, finally spoken aloud. What he'd felt deep down was finally given air, given life. They were the real gift, and he watched as Holly registered exactly what he'd said. Her eyes widened, the smile breaking on her lips. Tugging on his hands, she coaxed him to kneel on the floor, in the v of her legs, before leaning forward crushing her mouth to his. He clung to her, desperately hanging on as her tongue swirled around his, allowing him her taste as he followed her lead.

Finally, finally, finally, he said it.

After a few moments, when they had to draw away for breath, he heard her chuckle as she rested her forehead against his.

"I don't think anyone can top that Christmas present," she murmured, causing Steve to grin widely. Going in for another embrace, he felt the metal tags tap against his chest, no longer just his, but theirs.

* * *

**A/N:** A tad shorter than the previous chapters...okay, A LOT shorter, but I felt this was a good place to stop for the moment. Yes, Steve finally told Holly he loves her. Only took a few months…get the party favors everyone! If it was cheesy or corny, well…guess what, romance is sometimes. No regrets! By no means is this the end of the Christmas arc, so stay tuned for that.

I don't know why, but I feel that before his transformation, Steve would've attached a lot of feelings and meanings to his dog tags, given how badly he wanted to become a soldier and those are a pretty good physical sign of being one. Just saying.

That said, thanks for reading the chapter, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!

_*****Props to the person who caught my error regarding Mr. Barnes. Oh my gosh...that was embarrassing...but I fixed it! oops. :-P_

(Also, I hate to pimp out my other stories—plugging is something I try to avoid nowadays—but I just wrote a one-shot for _The Last of Us_. If any of you happen to like that game and want to give a story a try, I would appreciate it if you gave it some love; you can find it listed in my stories on my profile. Thank you. You may go on your merry way now.)


	38. Chapter 38

How Holly was able to fall asleep after Steve's proclamation, she didn't know, but eventually the pair was curled up in bed, the time on the digital clock ticking by. A couple hours later, after dozing against Steve's shoulder, Holly snapped up from her haze. Getting caught now was not ideal, especially as both her mom and dad tended to wake up earlier than she did. Slipping out of Steve's arms, she gave him a quick peck on the forehead, though it did not cause him to stir. Shaking her head, she tiptoed out the door, shutting it silently behind her before moving carefully up the stairs. Light from the kitchen poured down the steps, alerting her to the possibility of someone's presence, but she reckoned she would be able to complete the bend and get all the way to her old bedroom if the person was off in the dining room or behind the fridge door. As she made her attempt, she barely had time to collect her thoughts when a voice stopped her dead in her tracks.

"You're up early."

Under her breath, Holly groaned, closing her eyes. She just wasn't quick enough. Her father was perched at the breakfast bar, wrapped in his ratty dark blue robe and flannel pajamas, watching her over his shoulder. Two mugs sat in front of him, as well as the basket of day-old muffins. A hunting magazine was folded and sitting off to the side. Raising his eyebrows significantly, he gently pushed one of the mugs over, gesturing for her to come take it. Her options were limited at this point, and bolting like an embarrassed teenager would do her no good. Instead, she took in a deep breath before slowly making her way over to the counter.

"Yeah, well...maybe I wanted to join you for six o'clock coffee?" she joked, lifting the empty mug for emphasis as she turned towards the coffee maker. Paul barely cracked a smile, causing her tiny grin to falter.

"Maybe you aren't any good at bullshitting," he intoned, taking a swallow of hot caffeine and watching her assemble her cup. "Especially when it comes to your old man."

Going to the fridge, she took out the creamer, wrenching off the cap before dropping some of it into her drink. "I can't help that I was raised to be too honest for my own good."

Now her dad smiled. "Family trait, nothing can be done about that."

The blank look she shot him did nothing to deter his good humor, so rather Holly continued fixing her cup of coffee and he went on watching her, eyes hooded. Picking out a muffin, she rolled it between her fingers for a moment, mentally determining how long to microwave it. Discreetly, she observed Paul's unhurried movements towards the basket, his withdrawing of the breakfast confection and choosing to tear into it (his second, if the crumpled baking paper on the counter in front of him was any indication). She was waiting for him to speak as she reheated her muffin, to say more, but he just picked at his food, chewing slowly and slurping his coffee. The drawn-out quiet was starting to irritate her, the ping of the microwave breaking through and causing her to jump. Gathering everything, she deliberately took the stool next to his, cracking the muffin in half and reaching for the butter plate.

"Hope you're not going to give me the 'I'm not angry, just disappointed' speech,'" she muttered, the words a dare for him to do so. He caught the mulish look she was giving him, and he just shook his head, going on with his breakfast. The magazine was retrieved, his fingers turning the pages gently.

"Just replay it in your mind, saves me the trouble."

She blinked; she hadn't expected that. Flouting the rules was generally not something her parents easily tolerated. She didn't have a harsh childhood, but she had been taught to respect her mother and father's wishes, at least as far as things went down in their house. A part of her felt relieved; she'd been witness to a blowout or two, as well as participating in a few herself, and she didn't want to go through that again.

"For the record, I wasn't down there all night," she told him after a little while. "I...I woke up around four, couldn't sleep."

"I know," he replied. Off her confused glance, he chuckled, reaching out and playfully tugging on her ear. "That creaky step has always been out to get you. At least I didn't wander down there and find you coming out in his shirt."

Coloring slightly at the fact that he knew where she was well before her appearance, she turned her focus on his last few words. Her brow furrowed as she tried to recall the incident he referenced.

"I don't remember that happening to Heather."

"That's because it wasn't Heather," he confessed quietly. As Holly's eyebrows threatened to hit her hairline, he chuckled and murmured, "Your brother looks terrible in pink. The poor girl with him was mortified."

A hand flew up to her mouth, to cut off the shocked giggles. "Oh, good Lord."

Paul shrugged, a smirk playing across his lips. "You chose to go to summer camp and miss all the fun, missy."

Left to wonder exactly how she'd never heard about this particular indiscretion of her brother's, Holly felt Paul bump her shoulder with his, pulling a face at her before going back to his repast. The silence that stretched between them again was more companionable, and Holly began to feel at ease. She always liked spending time with her dad, even when they didn't have much to say to one another. In tough times, she gravitated towards his calm, quiet demeanor, his unassuming nature a good foil for her inquisitiveness.

Unconsciously, her hand kept straying back to the chain around her neck, tapping and tugging on the tags hanging from it every so often. Paul noticed, but said nothing about her new accessory. Instead, after draining his mug, he cleared his throat and combed through his hair. The look on his face was careworn, showing all of his age in that moment.

"Look, it's not worth getting into a huge fight over. He's a good man, better than some of the asshats you could have picked, and you know we love you. But this is something your mother and I feel very strongly about, Holly Jean," he murmured, the middle name addition more of an endearment than a scolding. Holding his daughter's matching dark gaze, he went on, "So, if you could do as we asked from here on out, we would appreciate it."

Nodding automatically, Holly sighed, tapping her fingers against the quartz countertop. "I still think it's stupid."

"I get that," Paul remarked, a trace of impatience in his tone. He'd promised not to fight, but that did not mean he was pleased with what she did. Holly flinched slightly, all too familiar with that tone. "Still, you agreed to it. And I think you both understand the importance of keeping your word."

"I know, I know," she cut him off, raising a hand to forestall the rest of the lecture he'd promised not to give her earlier. Honestly, she didn't want an argument any more than he did, not today. The tiny smile had returned, the one she hadn't been able to shake, and her fingers curled around the tags again.

"Meanwhile, looks like you're having a good morning, despite being up so early," her dad said idly, his keen gaze on her face.

"Yes, I am." Of course she was; after all, it was good to know her love was returned. Warmth flowed through her all over again, and the grin grew ever wider.

"Anything to do with it being Christmas Eve?"

"Pretty close, Dad," she responded, giving him a wink.

Paul coughed, his expression sobering. "You...you two didn't—"

Eyes going wide, Holly flushed and waved her hands in denial. "God, Dad! No."

Attempting to quell the awkwardness, he mimicked her hand motions, as if by doing so he could erase what he'd tentatively brought up. "Okay, okay...well, anyway...evening service is at eight o'clock; bus leaves before that. Think you can handle being ready by then?"

"I think I can. We both will." Steve would be glad to, she knew that; he tried to attend services as often as he could, given his workload recently, and he would be pleased to go.

"All right; we gotta get our good back pew seats."

They shared a tight grin at that. The Martins were one of those families that the regular churchgoing crowd sneered at as being "three day Christians." On occasion they would find themselves at weekly services, but more often than not, they could be found tumbling in the back door merely for Christmas, Good Friday, and Easter. A few of the attendants had muttered not-so-quietly about their lack of faith, their pretending otherwise, but Paul and Lisa refused to let it get to them, or to their children.

"Belief is in your heart, not in your attendance," Holly said, quoting the phrase her parents often used to justify their actions. It was a belief that they held onto, that they had passed onto her. No matter what fell out of the sky or was thawed from the ice.

Paul nodded sagely, taking a last bite of muffin. "Damn straight, Holly Jean. Now, go get that fella up. He might as well join us for coffee. If he's even sleeping at all."

Getting up from her seat, she stretched her arms above her head, working out the kinks before doing as her father requested.

"You know, you're getting soft, old man. I was expecting more of a dressing down than that," she threw over her shoulder as she went towards the stairs.

He snorted, getting up and going to the cupboard to get down another mug. The sparkle in his eyes promised that, while she was forgiven for the transgression, it would not be totally forgotten. How it would resurface when Steve joined them remained to be seen.

"Not slowing down at all, little missy; certainly not as much as you think. You know me better than that. However, if you'd rather have your brother have a part in this instead, I could get him up to speed."

Holly rolled her eyes, a flash of memory overtaking her. "Pssh. No thanks. It was bad enough in high school. You never should've gotten him that winter hunting gear. Poor Taylor..."

"That boy should've taken the snowball attack a lot better. Didn't the kid have four brothers or something?" her dad retorted, grabbing down a skillet and moving off to find something more substantial to cook for breakfast. Sharing one more fond look with his daughter, he waved her off in a shooing manner, and happily, she complied.

**xXxXxXx**

After getting his fill of the breakfast Paul had pulled together (a covert, knowing look cast at him and Holly when they'd returned didn't quite put him off, but he got the idea that they hadn't gotten away with anything), Steve took advantage of the open morning to check in at the Tower. Thus far, Natasha had reported a status of calm across the board, though it seemed that Bruce had returned to the states a mite earlier than he'd planned. From what she'd surmised, his cousin was to go in for surgery again, and he preferred to be there for her if he could. As it was, the ex-assassin and the unobtrusive scientist would be weathering the holiday together.

"I don't doubt he felt uncomfortable overseas; there was an upsurge of Midgardians on Odinson lookout, evidently," she'd confessed, arching a perfectly shaped eyebrow and snickering. "All those adoring fans..."

HYDRA was staying under the radar, and the tracking systems had not picked up any significant blips. It was unlikely, at that early stage, that anything would come up, but they had to remain vigilant. Steve was at least relieved that nothing had happened in that regard, so far. He didn't want to run off and abandon Holly, not after his declaration.

Inside, he felt much lighter, conquering his frozen tongue as much a victory as trashing a few rogue agents. His heart swelled at the thought, and as he made his move to make the next call, he couldn't quite keep the happiness off his face.

Sam had answered promptly, though the voices behind him made it difficult to hear. Tori's extended family had gathered in his mom's apartment, with the two mothers chattering on and on at each other while he was stationed at the kitchen table, unable to move for fear of being drafted into some culinary duty or being involved in Tori and her brothers' competitive Mario Kart tourney (not that Steve really understood what that was, but he commiserated appropriately).

"You know, I used to complain about not having any brothers or sisters when I was a kid. Now, I realize how lucky I was," he muttered, causing the captain to chuckle a little when he snapped off an expletive at being given a smack to the back of the head. "Be glad Holly only has one brother, and not three."

"Trust me, I'm having enough troubles with the one," Steve murmured, biting his lip to reveal little more about his tenuous relations with Hank. Stumbling onto another thought, he smirked to himself. "Tell your mom Holly and I appreciate the Christmas card, by the way."

"Ha ha," Sam mock-laughed at him, grumbling about the grotesque photo they'd taken back in June making the rounds that year.

"I did predict that it would make a good one."

"So you did. Did you, perchance, tell her that yourself, repeatedly, until she followed your advice and printed that stupid thing?"

Steve kept his voice even, placid. "Doesn't sound like me."

Sam outright snorted. "Bullshi—"

"Samuel!" The name broke through on his friend's end, cutting him off midstream.

The call wrapped up soon after that, with Steve exhaling sharply and glancing up at the ceiling. He'd heard the footsteps clattering through the front door upstairs several minutes ago, listened as new voices joined in the festive music as it played over the radio in the family room. Another round of meet-and-greet was upon him, and he sighed. He knew exactly what he'd signed up for, agreeing to spend the holiday with all of Holly's family, but at the moment, it was weighing on him.

A knock came at his bedroom door, and immediately he stood up, at attention. Smoothing down his blue checked shirt and making sure his khaki pants were sharp, he crossed over, twisting the knob and opening it. He relaxed minutely when he realized it was Lisa standing there, hair loose and a bright red sweater on. She gave him a gentle smile, maternal warmth passing from her to him, and he relaxed further.

"Holly is a little occupied, so I've been deputized to bring you up to meet the rest of the family," she explained, leading the way to the family room. Nearly whispering, she told him, "It's just Heather and her family, just in case you were starting to feel overwhelmed."

No extended clan would be showing up on the doorstep; he wouldn't face a veritable sea of relations. It was silly, but Steve was able to breathe a little easier at the knowledge. When he arrived next to her on the top step, Lisa gave him a wink and a pat on the arm.

"I've been there, with Paul's side, years ago," she said, fluttering a few fingers in the air. "Four sisters, and all his aunts and uncles, as well as his parents and grandparents. That was a crowded Thanksgiving, let me tell you. Just let me know if you'll be okay."

"Thanks, Lisa," he said, grateful for the kindness she was showing him. With a final smile and pat, she ushered him into the room, where a woman with light brown hair and brown eyes was conversing in hushed tones to a carrot-haired fellow while cradling a baby in the crook of her arm. Due to the similar oval face shape and nose, he quickly surmised this was Heather, and most likely it was her husband, Jake, beside her.

Approaching carefully, he greeted them with sincerity, noting right off the starstruck look on Jake's features. The guy had popped out of his seat, shaking his hand enthusiastically and gushing about meeting Captain America. Steve hoped that he would get through his enamored state fast, for all their sakes. Heather was a bit more reserved, but not by much. As she got up to exchange greetings, Steve could see that she was quite a bit shorter than her younger sister, a full five inches at least. She was craning her head back to look up at him, and he felt a little awkward, remembering what it was like being the one forced to step back and rock his head to meet someone's gaze.

The baby, Ryan, was all wrapped up in a shirt decorated with a Christmas light pattern and tiny jeans, bright red hair like his father's cropped close. Giving Steve a swift once-over before wriggling in his mother's arms, he stuck out a chubby hand and curled his fingers in an approximation of a wave. At one year old, he couldn't do much more than that as far as saying hello was concerned, but Steve returned his gesture with a half grin and letting the little guy take a couple of his fingers in his grip.

On his USO tour, Steve could not count the number of times young mothers had insisted on having him hold their children, trying to keep them steady long enough for photographs with the Star Spangled Man with a Plan. The kids were always so happy to see him, a big man standing up for their country, someone who might bring their dads or brothers out safe on the other side in the war. If it hadn't been for the kids looking up to him back then, he would have more than tempted to quit the whole damn tour, but one look at their bright faces, and he couldn't bring himself to do it. It meant so much for them to see him; it meant so much to far too many people.

"Our other little terror is running around here somewhere," Heather said, the pitch of her voice deeper than her sister's. She said this with a look of exasperation, set off by the smile she sported. Almost as if on cue, said terror began clattering down the stairs, palm pressed firmly against the wall under the banister and snow jacket halfway on. His hair, a lighter facsimile of his mother's, was tousled and his bright eyes were wide with joy at being at Nana and Papa's.

"Me play outside!" he shouted happily, struggling to stamp around in his big boy boots and snowpants. Out of nowhere, the child's aunt charged down the stairs behind him, sparing Steve a swift glance before scooping up the youngster in a big hug. She'd been in her room changing, able to wrestle it away from Jodie for the time being, but it seemed that she'd pulled herself together just in time.

"Hey, buddy. Remember me?" Holly asked, after giving her sister and brother-in-law hugs hello.

"Auntie Lolly," the boy said, not quite getting her name right. His parents moved off again, treading up towards the kitchen to join with Paul and Lisa.

"Close enough," she giggled, swinging the toddler around. After the little boy gave her a tight hug around her neck, he caught sight of the tall stranger standing next to them, and hid his face in his aunt's shoulder. A tug deep in Steve's heart registered, as he kept his eyes on his girl holding a child in her arms. Snickering again, Holly ruffled her nephew's hair. "Oh, you're being shy now? You don't want to say hi to Steve?"

Moving closer, Steve offered the kid a gentle smile, bending slightly at the waist to not seem so impressive. "Hello, little man. What's your name?"

The boy patted his own chest, though his tone was a bit unsure. "Cole Sean."

"And how old are you, Cole Sean?"

Cole screwed up his face in concentration, holding up two fingers. "This many."

"But you're almost three, aren't ya?" Holly asked, matching his vigorous nod with her own.

"Wow, you're such a big fella, aren't you? All grown up," Steve said, amused when the little boy shot him a pleased look.

"Lolly, you play Supe-man with me? Outside?" Cole asked, attention back on Holly.

A chorus of the young woman's name from upstairs echoed down, and a tight grimace flitted over her features. Heather called out again, asking for her to give her a hand in unloading what they'd brought with them from the car.

"I gotta help your mom right now, bud," she said, returning the pout the toddler gave her. "I know, little man, but I can't."

Before he could stop himself, Steve found himself cutting in. "I could—"

Holly stared up at him, eyebrows inclining and a questioning look in her gaze. Steve shrugged, finding his tongue again.

"I could, you know, watch out for the little guy for awhile," he offered. In the past, he had helped Bucky with his younger siblings, so far as he could, when all their parents weren't able to. It wasn't exactly unfamiliar territory, even if it had been years since the last Barnes had grown up. If it helped Holly out, and her sister, too, he would gladly spend some time with the little fella. A moment or two passed, with Holly weighing the positives and negatives of the offer in her mind before setting Cole back on the ground.

"Okay. Just...remember, he's not a shield, so don't toss him too hard," she said, smirking up at him. "If he gets hurt, Heather will have both our asses."

"That's a terrifying thought," Steve replied in mock fear, causing Holly to roll her eyes and give him a kiss on the cheek. Crouching down to Cole's height, he posed an important question to the little guy. "You want to play Superman, Cole?"

"Otay," Cole told him decisively. Jabbing a finger to both their chests, he proclaimed, "Me Supe, you Hulk."

It was all Steve could do to not let the incredulous expression take over his face. However, he did not hold back on raising an eyebrow and shooting a furtive glance to his chuckling girlfriend. Helplessly, Holly paused on the stairs, shrugging and spreading her arms wide.

"He really has started liking the Hulk lately. He's two, it makes sense to him."

Steve nodded once. "Bruce will be thrilled to know what a big hit he is with kids."

After some negotiation, and his assistance, Cole was suited up to play outside. The little guy insisted on helping him getting ready for the outdoors, too, pushing his heavy wool coat and thick gloves at him. The little boy chattered excitedly, telling him all about how he liked the "Vengers" and wanted to be a superhero himself. Charmed by his antics, Steve told him he had something really neat to show him, causing the toddler to bounce from foot to foot and beg him to let him see what he had. Stretching the gray beanie over his blond hair (growing shaggy again; he'd need to have it cut when he got back East), he made a brief sojourn down to the basement, returning with his shield in hand. Cole crowed in delight, eyes impossibly wide at the sight.

"You Cap 'Merica?" he said, his high little voice dripping with as much awe as his dad's had beforehand. Before Steve could confirm or deny, the boy's small hands tried to grip it, pick it up and throw it just like he'd seen on television. Kneeling down, Steve helped guide his tiny arm through the leather straps, supporting the disk while the little guy tried look as heroic as possible.

Jodie, having escaped her aunts and grandmother for the moment, happened upon them. Her eyes darted over the shield, her brow furrowed in thought.

"You know, if you tied a rope to that, it could be a cool sled."

Steve looked from her to the shield, inclining his head in agreement. "You know what? You might be right."

**xXxXxXx**

About twenty minutes later, Steve made the fifth circle around the house, towing the two-year-old on the shield sled, scavenged rope from the garage in his hands. The seven-year-old plodded alongside him in the snow, waiting for her next turn. Her legs hung over the edge when she'd first climbed on, but she curled up as best she could, too intent on having fun on the shield to let them get in her way. Neither child was heavy, but he'd been towing them nonstop ever since they got outside, the cold of the air seeping in. If he could take a break at some point, he would appreciate it.

The slap of a sliding door shutting grabbed his attention, and he caught the gaze of Jake, tiny Ryan kitted out to the nines in his own snowsuit. Jake was huddled in an old parka, bouncing the baby every other step as he picked his way off the deck to meet him.

"How's kid-wrangling duty so far, Cap?" he wondered, grinning towards his elder son as the little boy leaped out of the disk and flew at his cousin. Jodie tagged him, careful to not get too far ahead of the toddler as he chased after her. Steve turned to watch them both, shrugging and tipping his head to the left.

"No worse than gathering up HYDRA."

Jake chuckled low, his eyes holding a promise that Steve couldn't quite make out. "Just wait."

"What?" the captain queried, but he got no more than Jake's shaking head and knowing smirk before he heard it. The pounding sound of feet in snow became louder, and he looked back in time to see a pink snowsuited blur launch herself at him.

**xXxXxXx**

"The superhero is getting dogpiled by the kids in the backyard," Hank reported, having made his way into the house via the back door. He'd been out at the shop that morning, inspecting the orders and servicing a few cars before shutting down for the holiday. When he'd returned, he parked alongside the garage, and when he trod around to the back of the house, he was met with possibly the funniest sight he'd seen thus far for Christmas.

A begrudging grin spread on his lips as he watched his mother and two sisters' jaws drop in disbelief, and he motioned towards the windows, inviting them to see for themselves. He maneuvered past them to get a pop from the fridge. Immediately, they went to see what he'd been talking about, abandoning their separate tasks of assembling treats for the kids and getting something put together for lunch. Lisa took the one over the kitchen sink and the sisters hovering by the glass sliding door. He had been telling the truth: Jake stood off to the side, the baby bundled up in his arms. Appearing to be laughing very hard, they followed his line of vision. Steve was on the ground, ducking as Jodie proceeded to dump more snow on his head and the toddler was climbing on top of him, roaring like a great green monster.

"Poor guy, he never stood a chance," Heather crooned in faux sadness, the glint in her gaze belying her tone.

"That's what happens when a ninety-year-old faces off with the youth," Hank replied, the snark that would have been in his voice pulled back; if he hadn't, he reckoned Holly would've hauled off and given him a good smack. Having agreed to a truce, he found it easier to get along with Steve when the man was being kind to his little girl.

"I think it's sweet," Lisa pronounced, just as Steve gave a mock roar of his own and plodded after both kids, their screaming laughter streaming behind them. Giving a side-along glance towards her youngest daughter, she wondered, "How about that, Holl?"

Holly was silent, but her hand splayed over the tags tucked under her shirt, indescribable emotion playing across her face. Paul shuffled in, taking the pop in his son's grip for his own and striding over to his daughters. Shifting between them, he slung his arm over Holly's shoulders, watching the scene play out before them.

"Good man," he whispered, giving Holly a tug on the ear when he moved away.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm attempting to shift back to the weekend update schedule, so bear with me.

D.C. stuff belongs to D.C.

I think Steve playing with kids would be such an adorable sight. This chapter was so sweet, I think I got a cavity from it. :-P And yeah, not her mom, but her dad caught her. At least he didn't catch them when they were otherwise engaged. And Hank's pink shirt episode? Don't ask. The poor guy doesn't want to talk about it.

Cole is totally based off my nephew. That little guy is such a dear, and I had a hand in turning him into a big Captain America fan at two years of age. I'm a proud auntie. :)

Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one.


	39. Chapter 39

It was after nine o'clock when the Martin clan plus Steve Rogers returned from the Christmas Eve service. Sidelong stares and outright gawking from the other parishioners aside, awkward approaches were kept to a minimum as Pastor John, as he introduced himself for any newcomers, led the opening prayer. Jodie, cleaned up from her afternoon exertions and changed into a glittering red dress, had joined the other children from her Sunday School to sing a few songs, directed by the pastor's wife. Hank watched his daughter with pride, despite his obvious cringes when the kids hit a sour note. The communion gave Steve a sense of comfort. Very little of the world now made him feel that way, but a small part of him found a measure of peace and connectivity with this new life whenever he managed to get to a church service. He still believed, still had faith, and he held that in his heart. He felt strengthened, able to sing quietly when the congregation joined in with the children for _Silent Night,_ holding Holly's hand all the while.

Perhaps he exuded an aura of calm, or perhaps he was too intimidating for many people to approach him after the service ended, but either way, the other people did not press too closely, save for the pastor and a few of the kids eager to meet a superhero. A few mothers came equipped with their camera phones, and so he was obliged to take a picture or two as well, but it didn't bother him too much. After all, these people were less irritating than the paparazzi that tailed him.

"Thank you for coming," Pastor John had told him, shaking his hand before directing the kids back to their parents, the church building emptying around them. Sincerely, he added, "We'll be praying for your safety. All of you."

Touched by the remaining kids' agreements with the pastor's words, Steve could only nod, humbly intoning, "Thank you."

Once back at the home, Jodie and Cole were insistent on opening a present or two before bed, at least before Heather and her family had to go back to the hotel they were staying at. Gathering in the living room, Paul and Lisa chose two presents for everyone, a Christmas Eve tradition formed years ago. The adults had a little of the eggnog prepared earlier in the day while the kids tore into the gifts, exclaiming over the toys and immediately setting to play. The grown-up gifts were a bit more tame, with Holly receiving a funky sweater, a design of snowflakes and AT-AT walkers stitched into it. Steve would have laughed, but she quickly pointed out that the hokey sweater thing was a tradition as well, and to take a look at his own before he said anything. Hank, pulling out a sweater with a strange car and the words "Great Scott!" on it, concurred.

He should have listened; his sweater of light blue was embroidered with, "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy," the notation for Company B across the shoulders in back. From her corner of the couch, he heard Lisa chortle under her breath, congratulating herself on a job well done, no doubt.

"Well, at least I know what I'm wearing tomorrow," he said, lopsided smile in place and good attitude restored. Unwrapping his second and last gift for the evening, he discovered it was an album of jazz hits, featuring modern artists and starring someone he crossed paths with long ago. It wasn't often there would be free time in between missions, but when he did have it, he did like to talk to the fellow soldiers in the field, meeting with the infantrymen and getting to know them. Guys who just wanted to get home, guys like this fellow who had literally stumbled in his path while preparing to go to France, into the heart of danger. "So this is what happened to you, Mr. Benedetto."

"Pardon?" someone asked, but he just shook his head and gave his thanks instead of repeating himself. The flow of the conversation continued around him, with Paul and Hank deciding on putting in a holiday-themed film, with Jodie begging for it to be the one with the reindeer, an animated one that he only gave half a mind to as Holly snuggled in beside him, her head on his shoulder and her sighing contentedly.

Around the time the little reindeer found himself ready to save the day, Steve had felt himself start to doze off, until a finger prodded him on the shoulder, forcing him to become alert again. Tensing, his eyes swept up, meeting Paul's steady gaze. The tenseness didn't quite abate, but he was able to give the man a polite smile.

"Steven, would you come with me for a minute?" Paul inquired quietly, careful to pitch his tone low so as to not wake his napping daughter. Slowly, Steve nodded, gently extracting himself from his spot on the couch and tucking a throw pillow under Holly's head as he laid her down. Besides giving a little hum in her sleep, she did not wake. Following Paul up the stairs, they left the remaining family members padded into the family room just beyond the kitchen, where the second tree resided. It was mostly there for decorative purposes, but there was a single present sitting beneath its branches.

"Got something a little extra this afternoon, had to find it," Paul explained, his voice placid. Steve felt his body tense again, going on guard.

"Yes, sir?"

Gesturing to the gift, Paul simply replied, "Go ahead."

Stooping to grab it, Steve felt slightly lost as to why he was even there in the first place. Straightening, he began to peel away the wrapping paper, blue snowflakes disappearing under his quick fingers. Plastic packaging came into view, tampered with, but taped up carefully. Turning it over in his hands, he looked at the brushed nickle plating, the single cylinder staring back at him.

"A door lock," he muttered, taking care to keep as much of his confusion off his face as he could. He could see Paul dip his head in his peripherals.

"Yeah. Seems you have some trouble keeping that basement door shut, despite our best intentions."

Steve's mouth went dry. He knew that they hadn't gotten away with anything, knew deep down something like this would be coming. "Sir, I..."

Paul spoke over him, cutting him off effectively. "And I can get that mounted straightaway, if it remains a problem."

Holly had mentioned that her father had spoken to her directly about flouting her parents' wishes, had told him her father wasn't looking for a fight on that score. However, he figured that he wouldn't just let it rest without speaking to him as well. Steve just didn't expect something like this. A single cylinder lock, the kind that was meant to be on an outer door and keep people out. Paul was a contractor, with years of experience working on other people's homes as well as his own; keeping something tight and secure was something he was good at. He knew, he understood.

"Key's missing," Steve pointed out, in a tone that could have been mistaken for nonchalance. If he were speaking to anyone but his girlfriend's father, that is. The corners of Paul's eyes crinkled, but his expression otherwise remained passive.

"It's not missing, it's just somewhere else," he enunciated cautiously, resting his hands on his belt.

The final point had been driven home, and under the other fellow's gaze, Steve felt he was under inspection again. It felt absurd, but his spine stiffened, straightened as if at attention. But unlike with his drill sergeant, Steve was able to meet his eyeline directly, take his point and move on.

Finding his tongue once more, he finally said, "I understand, sir."

After a second or so of silence, Paul clapped him on the shoulder before turning on his heel and walking away. "Good."

A minute or two passed, with Steve just staring down at the lock in his grip, the music of the film still playing downstairs filtering in and out of his hearing. Shortly afterward, shuffling to his left jerked him out of his reverie. Jake was there, gathering coats from the hall closet and shooting him a peculiar look. His gaze fell on the package in Steve's hands, and he snorted outright.

"Showed you the door lock, didn't he?" he asked, not bothering to wait for a confirmation. Peering at him closer, he wondered, "That all he did?"

"What, was there supposed to be more?" Steve inquired, brow furrowing at the idea of a further confrontation.

"Well, all I can tell you is that he had a lot more to say to me when Heather and I tried to give the folks the run-around," Jake responded, lips twisting in a rueful grin. Steve raised an eyebrow at that.

"Which was?"

"'I have a four-wheeler, a snowmobile, a hunting rifle, and a lot of patience. Try again and see how far you can run,'" Jake quoted, covering his smirk by pulling on his coat. Steve, meanwhile, couldn't suppress the aghast look on his face. In answer to it, Jake shrugged. "But then again, I was a repeat offender. I never pushed it past that point, though."

By the time Steve was able to shake off the implications of what Jake had told him, he and Heather had bundled up their children, promising to return the next morning and final good nights exchanged between the family members at the door. Setting the lock to one side, he moved out of the family room into the foyer. He managed to give them a wave farewell before making his way back downstairs, the animated film replaced with a channel dedicated to burning the Yule log. Carols played over the snaps and pops of the burning wood, the only sound in the space besides the distant thumps of the rest of the house settling down for bed. From upstairs, he could make out Hank reading to Jodie, and the parents' bedroom door creaking as it shut. For the first time in a long while, Steve and Holly were alone.

Holly was curled up on the couch still, arms wrapped around the pillow and still asleep. Watching her sleep for a moment, Steve settled down on the floor beside her, reaching out and brushing back the hair that had fallen out of her ponytail behind her ear. Now she stirred, blinking blearily in the dim light.

"What time is it?" she muttered, grogginess bleeding through her voice. A yawn coursed through her, covered by the back of her hand.

Steve grinned softly, suppressing a yawn of his own before responding. "Time for bed."

Eyes half-lidded, Holly breathed out a pleased hum. With her fingers sliding up his neck and into his hair, he let himself be pulled in, her lips soft and mouth tasting a little of eggnog.

"Whose bed?" she purred, thrills shooting through his veins as her lips parted beneath his. Soon enough he was off the floor, climbing onto the couch with his body settling over hers, an elbow propping him up enough so he wouldn't smother her. Her hands raked over his back, tugging at his tucked-in shirt until it came free of the waistband. The slide of her nails along the skin of his back made him shiver, a moan sounding low in his throat as he swept his tongue over hers. His mind raced too quickly for him to keep up, the sensations of touch and taste overwhelming Steve as Holly let his hands roam freely over her body. A leg hooked around his waist, pressing him closer, stirring him, burning and freezing at the same time.

A clearing throat sounded from somewhere up the stairs, causing Steve to jerk back in slight alarm, both of them a little dazed from the sharp cut-off. Swiftly, he scanned the room, the stairs, for an intruder. Nobody was visible, but that did not mean they weren't heard or seen. Shifting floorboards in the kitchen told him that he was correct, that he hadn't been just hearing things. Given the circumstances, he thought it best not to push his luck. Not now, not here.

Swallowing with difficulty, he lifted off of Holly, catching his breath as best he could. Trying to sit casually, there was no disguising how invigorated he felt. Meanwhile, Holly blew out a groan, sitting up with her shaking hands pulling out the elastic in her hair. On impulse, he reached out, combing through a part of it and savoring the feel of the strands in his fingers. She clasped his wrist gently, physically willing herself not to reach for more. The floor creaked again, with Hank tiptoeing suspiciously slowly across the landing and shooting them both a smirk, the set of his eyes hard.

"Good night, you two," he announced in a faux mild tone, ignoring the exasperated glare of his sister and enjoying the look of discomfort on Steve's face. "Merry Christmas."

With that he departed, leaving them in the broken moment.

"So, on a scale of one to awkward, that was..." Holly trailed off, rolling her eyes to the ceiling.

"I'd give that a seven," Steve remarked, trying to keep his cool. Holly giggled, tapping on the arm.

"Only that?"

He shrugged. "It could have been worse."

Her eyebrows raised minutely. "Worse?"

He flushed, stumbling over his words. "Well, not worse, but I mean, well, he could've..."

Shaking her head, she sported a smirk of her own as she took his hand in hers. "Just teasing, sweetie. But, anyway...we should probably go to bed."

As she stretched and arched her back, Steve felt his throat constrict again for the briefest of instances. If only it could be. Closing his eyes, he tilted his head back and rested it on the blanket thrown over the back of the sofa. The spinning in his mind was calming down now, little by little.

"One more for the road," Holly blurted suddenly, drawing him out of his thoughts long enough to take a final deep kiss. The press of her hand on his thigh at the same time was distracting, the slide of her thumb along the seam making him inhale sharply before she pulled away.

"Didn't even need mistletoe for it," he breathed, earning a throaty chuckle for his efforts and a genuine smile as well.

"Good night, love," she said, a chaste peck planted on his temple as she rose from her seat and trod up the stairs. Once she slipped out of sight, Steve exhaled, rolling onto his side and burying his face in the throw pillow. His groaning mixed with the crackling of the Yule log still burning on the television screen.

**xXxXxXx**

Christmas morning dawned, with Holly waking to tugs on her arms and the joyous ramblings of her niece jumping by her air mattress and trying to bring her down to open presents at seven AM. Going through her morning routine quickly, she dressed in her new sweater and jeans before she let herself be towed downstairs.

"Breakfast first, kiddo, you know how this goes," she reminded Jodie, steering her young charge in the direction of the table. Heather and the kids were already there, the boys in the care of the older men as her mother and sister recruited her into bringing the food to the dining room, everyone else encased their new clothing (thank God Steve was being a good sport about it, even when Hank started playing the Andrews Sisters on his phone when her boyfriend walked into the room). Crackers were laid along the plates at breakfast, red, gold, and green shimmering in the light. It was one of the few things the Martins held onto from merry old England when the clan emigrated over a century ago. The popping crackers provided a nice counterpoint to the German-blooded Lisa's rendition of _O Tannenbaum_ echoing from the kitchen.

The pops made Steve flinch slightly, she'd noticed, but he'd gotten over them tolerably well. The paper crown she set on his head sat at a jaunty angle, and he pulled hers down to cover her eyes when she mocked the joke he found wrapped inside his cracker.

Stockings and presents were distributed around the tree later, some choice finds in hers (an entire bag of chocolate truffles was stuffed into her stocking). Having airmailed the gifts prior to the date, Holly was pleased to finally give them to her family, so happy to be with them. It had been far too long since she'd last seen them, and she wanted to enjoy the time she had. When Steve ripped into his own gift and revealed the travel easel she'd gotten for him, she could barely contain herself.

Afternoon dinner was spread in the kitchen, a buffet style meal that allowed everyone to take as they chose and to continue the surge of conversations as holiday music continued to play in the background. The siblings had a few minutes to themselves, with Jake and Jodie attempting to teach Steve how to play Mario Party downstairs and the grandparents watching over the little ones. Talk of work (Heather's job as a teacher and handing other people's children, Hank's maintaining of his garage, and Holly's bookstore woes) intersected with personal matters, with Hank grumbling about how his ex-wife had gloated about her new romance when she'd dropped Jodie off a few days ago. Concerns were turned towards the future, and Holly had a little news to share regarding that.

"Really? You're spending New Year's Eve in New York? God, you're lucky," Heather murmured, resting her chin in her hand, new earrings glittering in her ears. Holly, in turn, reclined in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. Hank leaned over, elbows on the back of the couch.

"I'm not getting anywhere near Times Square or anything. It's this semi-formal to-do that Tony insisted on having," Holly stated, frowning a little at the tiny note of jealousy in her sister's voice. The invitation was unexpected, not so much because he asked her to come, but because it seemed rather short notice to throw a party together. In her opinion, at least; Holly was very much a planner. Then again, Tony Stark was legendary in the party department, and had been for over twenty years (the tabloids had long since been reporting on that aspect of his life, and Pepper all but confirmed the accuracy when they met at Thanksgiving). If he couldn't pull something together in a span of three weeks, she didn't know who else could. Though not privy to the guest list in its entirety, Steve did mention that it was very likely some important personages would be attending. That was the thing that made her nervous.

"Tony Stark..." Hank said, reverence in his tone. "My little sister, in the same room as the legend himself."

Holly rolled her eyes, snickering at him. He'd said almost the same thing when she told him about going to Thanksgiving at the Tower several weeks ago. "Gearhead. Clean up, Hank, you're drooling."

Hank shook his head, mockingly blotting his chin with his sleeve. "Oh, pardon me."

"Do you have a dress picked out?" Heather asked, reaching for her can of pop on the coffee table and taking a quick swig of the drink. Nodding, Holly got out of her chair and joined her on the sofa, pulling out her phone and scrolling through her apps.

"Yeah, it shipped out just before I left DC. I had to pay extra for rush, but I think it'll be worth it," she said, feeling a little excited to show her sister her purchase. Hank groaned, but didn't remove himself from the room. He was curious as well. When she found the her purchase order, Holly let Heather scroll up to a picture of the dress. Letting out a low whistle, Heather held it up to their brother, waiting for an appreciative murmur from him before taking another look.

"Very pretty," she commended, wistfulness in her words. She would never begrudge her sister's chances in life, she couldn't help but wish that she could have had a similar opportunity at some point down the line. But there was the trade-off of being involved with someone dedicated to protecting others, and Heather knew herself well enough to know she couldn't live with the worry, the fear. Missing out on parties and having her husband and children at home, safe, was worth it. Squinting, she moved her thumb along the screen, examining the rest of the order. "Wait, what else...you seriously bought those, too?"

"Bought what?" their brother wondered, reaching for the phone only to have Holly snatch it away, tucking it into her pocket and not quite meeting his eye line.

"Oh, just some extra stuff."

Hank gave her a suspicious look. Nearly growling, he wondered, "Like what?"

He was met with a wall of silence, and a pointed glare from both his sisters told him not to give grief on this subject. Instead, he grunted once, clicking his tongue at the young women before striding out of the room, washing his hands of his siblings' abrupt obstinance. When he was out of earshot, Heather turned back to Holly, their serious expressions melting away as they laughed at their brother's plight.

"You are going all out for this," she pronounced, thinking back on difficulties she'd had in the past with a similar purchase of her own. "Pantyhose gives you enough problems, and this is a little trickier."

"I'm trying something new," Holly stated, not quite able to hide the pink coming into her cheeks. It had been a sort of impulse buy, but once it had arrived, she had reconciled herself to the idea of making it work. "And...I think Steve will like it."

Heather shot her a knowing look, a smirk painting her face. "Oh, I'm sure he will."

"He'll surprise me, and I'll surprise him."

Heather frowned. "I don't follow."

Holly lifted a shoulder, leaning in conspiratorially. "When he told me about the party, he mentioned something about being prepared. When I asked, he wouldn't tell me any more, other than that it was a surprise and to go easy on him if it didn't work out."

Heather's eyebrows shot up. "Meaning...?"

Holly shook her head, the her dark eyes wide with curiosity and wonder, a look shared by her sister.

"I don't know, but if it's important for him to go through the effort, then I think I'd better make an effort, too."

Quiet settled around them, the two women turning over their respective speculations in their minds.

"Well, better not flake on the party, then," Heather said, her pop can in a toast. "I want to hear details when the time comes."

Grabbing up her heretofore abandoned glass of eggnog, Holly grinned and tapped the cup against the can.

"I'll do what I can."

**xXxXxXx**

As he did the evening rounds, hunting along the perimeter of the domicile, the fellow breathed out, the cold biting into him. All was quiet, calm, contained. His sharp blue eyes examined the figures as they dotted past the windows, the glowing lights beckoning him in a way that he could barely remember, his heart aching. A brunette and a blond man filtered in, pausing by the wide glass doors off of a kitchen. Their posture was relaxed as they go into each others' arms, holding hands once they moved off, out of sight.

He sighed, shaking off the cold as best he can. He was used to much worse. Only a few more days of this, he thought to himself.

He meant what he said, about disappearing, about finding his own way. However, that didn't mean he had let go entirely. That he never wanted to find his way back. Making this journey wasn't really conscious effort; it was just something he had to do, albeit still in the shadows.

Steve could protect himself now, could protect his girl, but they couldn't always be safe away from their known worlds. She wasn't always with him, and she wasn't trained to protect herself. Well, besides with that stupid bat. He winced at the memory of metal stinging his side. Still, he was here, doing his part to help, to atone. He could do that, whether or not they even knew.

They didn't have to know he was there. But he didn't want them to forget him entirely.

Digging into his pocket, he fished out the device Steve had smuggled into his bag all those months ago. With his good hand, his human hand, Bucky Barnes tapped out a single message, one that Sam Wilson would fire off to Steve immediately upon reception, and give the captain hope. Hope for a return.

_**Merry Christmas.**_

* * *

**A/N:** All songs/films/etc. mentioned belong to their respective owners. I own nothing but the original characters, as well as the idea for Steve's bomb sweater. ;) Mr. Benedetto, if you haven't already guessed, is Mr. Tony Bennett. I'd like to think that at some point two American legends, two kids from New York, would cross paths in the final stages of the war. And clearly I do not own the gentleman, though I do have a couple of his songs in my iTunes.

I've addressed this before, but I have a different answer now than previously, so I'm coming back to it:

A common question I've been asked has been whether or not I have someone "cast"/"in mind" for Holly. To be honest, I have had a mental picture in my head, but I never really had a real life person to go off of. I also didn't want to spoil anyone's ideas, since once I said something, it would steer you to think of a particular actress/model/whoever once I did, and limit your own imagination. So I didn't pursue it. Until now. I actively began to search for someone who met my mental images...and I found her. Lucy Griffiths comes the closest to my consistent imaginings of Holly, so long as you picture her with brown eyes instead of blue (and with an American accent, which she can do, by the way). I have finally put a face to the name. Do with that what you will. I'll be putting up a link in my profile to the account that will have pictures of Holly (Lucy with her eyes altered to the correct color), along with some other things, fairly quickly.

Hello, Bucky. He just snuck his way in there at the end. And he will sneak right back out. Sneaky, sneaky bastard. ;)

I believe, after this, we will be moving out of the Christmas arc (which you're all probably sick of), heading towards New Year's. Which should be fun, I think. Sorry this chapter took awhile; it's been a weird week, all things considered, but I think it will shift back to normal fairly quickly.

Anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!


	40. Chapter 40

Inevitably, the holidays had to draw to a close, and so Steve and Holly left the Martin house as planned. In the early hours of the twenty-eighth, the pair made their final farewells, disembarking in a cab as opposed to making the parents drive them out to the airport. It was best that way, as Steve had arranged to have them both flown back in the quinjet, and it would be tough to explain driving directions that would lead them to an open airfield to Paul and Lisa. Though she had protested against misuse of the equipment, Steve countered with the fact that it really wasn't misuse if it was the quickest way for him to get back to home base. And besides, she still had repair payments to make; wouldn't it be better to cut out the cost of just one plane ticket? That stilled her arguments, but she did roll her eyes at his helpful reminder about Sam's car.

"Missing you already," Lisa was saying as she hugged her daughter close, as if she were afraid she would never see her again. Pulling away, she pointed her finger at Holly, mock sternness in her tone. "Call us the minute you get back."

Holly giggled, slipping on her coat with practiced ease. "I will. Love you."

As Paul and Jodie gathered around her to say their farewells, Hank turned towards Steve, who was standing a little off to the side to give them room. Striding forward, he held out a hand, giving the captain a firm handshake when he reciprocated.

"It was good meeting you, Steve," he murmured, more sincerity in his tone than when they first crossed paths. They definitely weren't friends, as Hank was still slightly antagonistic in his attitude towards his sister's boyfriend, but when they discovered a mutual adoration for motorcycles, well, it paved the way a little towards civility. Finding that common ground helped; then they had something to talk about without tenseness or awkwardness. At least now he could say the good-byes without them being forced.

Half smiling, Steve nodded and replied, "Yeah, I was glad to come."

At a loss to say more, the two men glanced back at the rest of the family. Jodie was tugging on her aunt's hands, going on about how much fun they'd had over the last several days and hoping she would come back soon. Holly was smiling, and when she caught Steve's eye, her gaze became a little brighter, the warmth increasing tenfold. Her older brother caught this, and as he looked back to Steve, he noticed how much of that warmth was returned. Shaking his head, he scratched his neck idly.

In a near whisper, Hank confided, "I think I get it, now. Doesn't mean I like it, necessarily, but then again..."

Steve stiffened his spine, met his gaze squarely. "Not really anything you can do about it."

The challenge wasn't terribly subtle, but then again, he hadn't meant it to be. Her brother could dislike him or their relationship all he wanted, but at the end of the day, they still loved one another, and nothing else mattered. Hank just gave a shrug, tipping his head in an all-too-familiar way before snickering to himself.

"Just suck it up and hope for the best," he said, the levity giving way to seriousness for the briefest of moments. Clapping a hand on the captain's shoulder, he continued, "Take care, Steve."

"You too, Hank."

Moving off, Hank let his parents and child maneuver around him to get to the superhero. Casually, he watched as his mother gave the unsuspecting fellow a solid hug. Caught off-guard, Steve hesitantly returned the embrace with an unsure grin on his lips. Going to his sister, Hank pulled her into his arms, his farewell cut off by something pressing against his chest.

"Sorry, thought those were tucked in," Holly apologized, reaching up to tuck the chain back under her shirt. Pulling back, Hank grabbed at the tags hanging on the end, squinting to examine them carefully. She'd worn the chain nearly everyday during their visit, but she normally kept them hidden beneath her clothes. Viewing the name on the tags didn't surprise him, but the fact that she had them at all was enough for him to cast her a sharp glance.

"Pretty much declaring it, aren't you?" he asked, letting her snatch the tags away from his fingers and securing them safely beneath her sweater. Holly gave him a hard stare, but there was a glimmer of something in her eyes. Something deeper than he could imagine being there.

"I don't think I've ever denied it," she responded tartly, a giggle softening the word. Pitching her voice lower, she went on, "And he isn't either."

With promises to visit again as soon as possible, Steve and Holly finally made their way out of the house. Clattering down the outside steps, they both waved back at the family members gathered in the window, ignoring the neighbors coming out to watch and stare, shivering in the snow-covered lawns. Getting into the taxi, Holly held Steve's hand in silence, the miles crawling by as she mulled over the events of the last several days. Casting her gaze studiously at the back of the driver's head, she was building the courage to ask him his thoughts, but Steve unknowingly cut her off.

"Have your parents ever been out east?" he wondered. Tilting her head to the right, she looked at him curiously.

"They helped me move four years ago, but they haven't been since," she told him, sadness creeping into her voice. Aside from Thanksgiving and Christmas visits, she didn't see them all that much, save for video chats. For all her time in her own city, spent in her own adventures, she did miss them. "We're all so busy, it just hasn't worked out."

Steve shot her a sidelong look, leaning back in his seat.

"Well, should they take me up on my offer, that will change," he said. Off her incredulous stare, he continued, "I still have military backpay and pension money left over. I told your dad it was on me if they wanted to come out sometime. Part of their Christmas gift from me."

Shocked, Holly's jaw dropped a little. Did he really do that?

"I like them, doll. Sure, your mom's a little overbearing, your dad's intimidating, and your brother hates me on principle—"

"I think 'hate' is a little strong," she managed to cut in. Steve dipped his chin, conceding the point.

"—But they're good people. And truth be told...it would be nice, to have the family come by," he said, his gaze fastened on his knees. Though he did consider his teammates to be the closest approximation to family on his side, he didn't want to lose these people, too. The stability, the caring that had enfolded him in that house was something he didn't wish to let go of. "For everyone concerned, I mean."

He opened his mouth to say more, but he found it impossible to do so when Holly drew him down into a hard, long kiss. There was no clear intention to give the cab driver an eyeful in the rearview mirror, nor did she wish to give the paparazzi fuel to add to the flames when the guy inevitably shared the story, but she did not want to stop. Steve had been so generous, so kind, for her sake. She didn't know how best to convey it, except this way.

When they broke apart, she whispered, "You're too damn good to me, you know that?"

He smirked, pitching his voice low enough so only she could hear, "Love you, too."

When they had to leave the cab at a gas station and continue the march to the open field, she didn't mind half as much as she normally would. Her heart felt too full to let blisters on her heels and whipping snow in her eyes bother her as they made their way to the quinjet, set for a course home. Christmas, on the whole, was good. She could look forward to the future.

**xXxXxXx**

The next day, Steve made his way back to the Avengers Tower, the cold biting into him as he motored up the freeways in the bitter wind. Five hours seemed to stretch, and he felt as though he'd been on the road for days when he finally turned on the familiar Manhattan streets. Avoiding Hell's Kitchen, he steered around the clogged traffic, making decent time and pulling in before frostbite could claim another victim. Upon his arrival, JARVIS announced to him about Maria's intentions to call a meeting. Hardly one to deny such a request, Steve made his way to the top floors, ignoring the drop of his stomach at rising so high so quickly. All the team had assembled, fresh from their holiday travails. Iibes and stories were traded back and forth, with Tony asking for explicit details regarding his meeting the family. Knowing better than to open the can of worms regarding Hank, he demurred, instead moving off to the meeting room down the hall.

Bruce sat at one end of the table looking tired, having stayed overnight with his cousin as she came through her surgery. Natasha and Maria were standing to one side, having a quiet discussion as Hill moved around the table, laying out packets for everyone's perusal.

"You gotta give me something to go on. It was not 'just fine,' these things are never 'just fine,'" Tony grumbled, having followed hot on his heels. Shooting him a look that told him to drop it, the billionaire completely bypassed his expression. "Come on, are you really telling me that everyone was in love with you, Yankee Doodle? Not buying it."

"Your personal experiences aren't everyone's, Tony," he chided him gently, not quite meeting his gaze. His friend shook his head, squinting at him.

"Who was it?"

Maria cleared her throat, pointedly interrupting the interrogation and motioning for the team to have a seat. Once everyone was in the room (Thor and Tony stood, leaning against opposite walls, while the others congregated around the long, glass table), she spread her hands along a wall screen, tapping at the digital keys.

"Natasha and I have been making a little headway with the gathered data while waiting on the scepter tracer. Even with HYDRA scattered, there does seem to be a chain of command, and I—we—may have discovered who took control after Pierce," she began, flicking a finger at the packets in front of the team and indicating for them to follow along with them. "We've been compiling a comprehensive profile."

"Merry Christmas," Steve muttered under his breath. Given how quiet the room was, everyone heard his remark, and he knew at least one of them would have a response.

"Of course. They had to do something while you were swanning about the frozen tundra," Tony explained, mirroring Steve's raised eyebrow with his own.

"And what would you call drowning yourself in champagne and baguettes on the icy Seine? Overtime?" Clint scoffed, rolling his eyes when Stark merely sniffed and gestured for Maria to continue. Clearing her throat, she turned back to the display hovering behind her, squaring her shoulders in a way the Avengers found off-putting and yet familiar.

"Baron Wolfgang von Strucker. Descendant of German landed gentry, third son that outlived his brothers to inherit the title. Came to prominence in the eighties as an arms manufacturer before he emigrated to the U.S. and began to work with SHIELD," Maria said, tapping the large digital schematic every so often. Pictures flew by, all of which contained a fellow of above average height, a monocle affixed to his eye and his head shaven, his gaze piercing whenever a direct shot appeared. Pride shone out from his bearing, stiff and hard in his dark, unassuming clothing. "He was hired to break down old HYDRA codes and constructs while fortifying weapons. He had a hand in everything, helped pull together some of our arsenal, our...research."

Glancing up at her, Steve put the pieces together in the silence that followed her speech.

"He provided SHIELD with HYDRA equipment when they first started researching the cube," he murmured, mimicking the frowns of his teammates as they pondered the information.

"At the time, he claimed he was a collector of memorabilia, that his family's past connections meant nothing, though..." she trailed off again, nodding to her compatriot halfway down the table. Romanoff took her cue, sitting up straight and pulling in their attention with the turn of her head.

"Looks like Fury didn't exactly trust his sources," Natasha commented, turning over her pages with studied alacrity. Holding up a page covered with coded data, she smirked. "Had him tailed, but with no success at the time. Never granted him clearance to access it, though Strucker lobbied for it several times. After September of 2012, he stopped asking for clearance, and that was that."

Steve grimaced, muttering, "Because he found something just as good to work with once it was gone."

The scepter. It all led back to the scepter, the one piece of alien technology that was invariably packed up and shunted off to a storage facility, meant to gather dust as far as SHIELD cared. The baron, obviously, could see the potential to be gained from it, even if its power source had disappeared from the earth. One little oversight, one ignored piece of equipment, and now everyone would potentially pay for the loss. The frustration seemed to come off the group in waves, and at the far end of the table, one fellow shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"And the other guy? We have a name for him, yet?" Bruce asked, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he inspected his packet of papers. Maria shook her head, taking the attention of the room once again.

"Not yet. Most HYDRA informants have simply called him, 'the Doctor.' While Strucker is clever enough, this guy is the true force behind all the scientific research," she announced, pulling out a picture of an elderly gentleman wrapped in a lab coat, seemingly rushing from a familiar trust building in downtown D.C. A few displays showed blueprints for half-finished projects, HYDRA weaponry that would never see the light of day again, as well as some handwritten notes supplied by the insiders planted within the organization. "Reports have put him all over the Eastern seaboard over the last nine months. Rumor speculates that he had a hand in the decimation of the HYDRA leaders after the fall, to stabilize Strucker's claim, of course. Going off the captured grunts' words. And wherever Strucker goes, he's not far behind."

Tony snorted, still standing against the wall with his arms folded. "Good dog."

Steve nodded in agreement, thinking hard for a moment. "He's our objective, this Doctor."

"Not Strucker?" queried Clint, mostly rhetorically.

"Well, both of them, really, but the Doctor has higher priority. Think: we've already uncovered evidence of human experimentation, of enhanced subjects. Not to mention the schematics for advanced weaponry," the captain added, motioning to his own pile of documents. What little they had gleaned from the crumb trail left by the HYDRA informants, there was evidence of the bastards preparing to mount something big, ready to shake a mighty large stick powered by something they had no hope to really control. But the doctor, he had a better handle than anyone else in the organization, perhaps even more so than the baron. "We have to derail his...projects...whenever we encounter them. And if we find him, he needs to be stopped. After he brings us Strucker's location. Though Strucker may have had the vision, he needed this man to make it come true."

"Power behind the throne, safe in the shadows," Stark mused aloud. "Or so he thinks."

"What he thinks doesn't matter. What he knows is more important. Ad what he does know is that he's been able to get away with murder—literally, mind you—without us noticing. He's more liable to flaunt that fact and think us none the wiser," Barton intoned. Natasha let her lips stretch into a predatory smile.

"And that would make him much easier to track," she said, sharing a significant look with Clint before her face slid back into placidity. The doctor would be their ticket to finding Strucker. And with any luck, the scepter as well.

"Slightly. It's better than nothing," the archer agreed, lifting one shoulder and sighing.

"Multitask it is, then," Tony said, rubbing his hands together and making his tone sound more flippant. "Keep one eye out for the doctor, and one eye to track the scepter. Hell, one might lead to the other. Like a ridiculous, convoluted scavenger hunt."

"We must do this, if this world ever wants to know peace," Thor pronounced, the depths of his voice holding centuries of vast emotion. Whenever he spoke thusly, none of the team knew whether to simply concur out of respect or question the god's genuineness. So the majority of them accepted his his words in silence, letting a pause follow briefly before moving on.

More watching, more waiting, but still, it was something. Strucker and the doctor, they were the key to bringing everything to a head. In the meantime, the team would still sweep for rogue agents (Rumlow had disappeared after an extensive hospital tenure, and that did not sit well with Steve in the slightest) and whatever HYDRA cells they could find. They had a plan, and they would follow it.

As one by one they left the room, Steve lingered at the door, observing Maria as she sighed and tidied up the bundles of leftover files. All of them would be packed into storage after being added to the database, which would be her job. It was something she would labor at gladly, and had done so since she'd gotten herself onto Tony's payroll, but it still meant a busy night for her.

"Thanks for all this, Maria," he said, holding the door open for her as she exited the room. She gave him a tiny grin before bobbing her head.

"I've been telling you guys, I have my sources," she responded, her heels clicking along the polished tiles.

Steve couldn't repress a snort. "Whether or not you can trust those sources is another thing altogether."

She stopped in her tracks, turning to look at him over her shoulder. Maria held his gaze for several long seconds, the weightiness in them conveying all she couldn't say. "These ones I trust. Implicitly."

A long moment passed before Steve dipped his chin in acknowledgment. He would have to take her word for it. And Maria's word was better than most, at least. Pivoting, he managed to get two steps down the hall before his path was blocked.

"Tony," he groaned, trying to move past him. The other man just sidestepped, staying in his way. "Don't you have a party to plan? Or, you know, literally anything better to do?"

If he hoped to distract him with social event looming on the horizon, or even with the tasks of maybe improving on the Iron Legion, he was doomed to be disappointed.

"I'm multitasking," he reminded his leader, dark gaze staring suspiciously. Silence hovered in the air as Steve just kept glaring down at him, shuffling to get by and not quite succeeding. Tony raised an eyebrow, raising a hand and curling his fingers in a 'give it to me' fashion. There would be no peace until he spoke, much as it galled him to say anything.

Gritting his teeth, Steve groused, "Her brother. Okay? It was her brother."

Tony's laughter trailed after him down the hall, his friend snickering in mirth.

"I knew it! Oh man, that is priceless," he said, mockingly wiping tears away from the corners of his eyes. Steve hunched his shoulders.

"At least he talked to me. Didn't Pepper's dad go mute upon meeting you...and still refuses to speak to you?"he retorted, raising an eyebrow and watching the hilarity drain from his teammate's face.

"Oh come on, lighten up, Stevie."

A moment of commiseration passed, and the two departed, both determined to tend to party matters, though they diverged significantly. Steve wanted to do well, and he would see it done.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, the chapter's a little dialogue heavy, but man, these guys just wanted to talk!  
I don't own anything mentioned from the MCU. I also meant to introduce Strucker at an earlier point, as well as Doctor List, but unfortunately it slipped my mind. But here they are, at least by mention!

A shorter chapter this week; it will just have to tide you over. ;) New Year's chapters to come, they are on the horizon. In the meantime, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!


	41. Chapter 41

The blue Buick rolled its way in front of the house, light snow drifting in the haze of the porch light. Night fell quickly, far too quickly, in the winter, and though it was barely past 6:30 PM, it seemed like midnight had descended on the neighborhood. Swiftly, the living room light went off and the front door opened, with a lone gentleman shouldering a light duffel and hanging on to a garment bag. Struggling for a moment, he managed to get the door locked behind him before bounding down the steps to the vehicle. Opening the back door, he threw his duffel in to join the driver's bag, flashing her a smile as he attached the garment hanger to the same hook another bag was hanging from.

"Evening, Sam," Holly said, turning in her seat to return the grin. She was glad he would be coming along to the soiree Tony Stark was planning, glad that Steve had procured an invitation for this good friend. At least she would have one other person to be comfortable around and talk to there. Having spoken the previous afternoon, they had agreed that taking separate vehicles up to New York was unnecessary, and with her still feeling guilty over what happened to his SUV, Holly had volunteered to drive. Sam's newest car, a pretty bronze Acadia, was hidden in the garage, sheltered from the elements (natural and human) for the time being.

"I'm impressed," he commented, shutting the back door and getting in the passenger side up front. "You got here in forty-five minutes. In after work D.C. traffic."

She bowed her head, doing a little flourish with her hands. "That's my one superpower: navigating roads like a champ."

Sam snorted, turning the dial on the radio to find a neutral station. Classic rock seemed to be the best bet, something they could both tolerate for the next five hours on the road, and so he settled on that as Holly pressed on the gas, joining the flow of traffic once again. They managed to grab fast food on the way out of town, burgers and fries tiding them over until they made a pit stop in New Jersey.

Sam spoke for awhile about his continued counseling with the veterans, some of whom were making excellent progress with their journeys, and Holly confessed that she could be nearing the end of her manuscript. Nothing guaranteed, of course, but she could feel, deep down, that she was almost there. The bookstore was the same as ever, with the part-time kids coming in and out, and her boss Carl giving her the extra time off for the trek up to Manhattan ("He likes to work around holidays, believe it or not. And with New Year's Eve being a half-day anyway, he decided to take it on. Provided I do some promotion while I'm up there," she'd said, shrugging off her boss's eccentricities as she sipped from her soda).

The music filtered in and out as she carefully maneuvered along the road, trying her best to watch out for ice. Her companion nodded along to the beat, comfortable silence settling on them as they went on. After a few minutes, a curious thought struck her, and she couldn't stop herself from asking a question.

"So no Tori for this trip?" Holly wondered, knowing that Steve had gained permission for Sam to bring a plus-one. It seemed odd, given the circumstances.

Sam steadied his gaze out the windshield, watching the snow fly by for a few moments before answering. "No Tori, no more. We, uh, split."

Holy blinked, awkwardness sliding through her. "Oh."

A few more seconds passed, and then: "Was it amicable? I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry or anything—"

Sam shook his head, shooting her a sad smirk. "It's okay. She got accepted for a costuming position in a theater out west a few weeks ago, starting in January. We discussed doing long distance, but after Christmas passed, we both decided it would be best to just separate. Less painful than dragging it out over another few months."

It made sense, and perhaps would be better for them in the long run, but it still hurt, if the fleeting wave of sorrow over his face was anything to go by. He'd cared for Tori, probably even loved her, and had spent eight months of his life with her. It would take some time, his recovery.

"I'm sorry," Holly murmured, genuine in her condolences. Sam was a great guy, and it was a shame for him to lose another person in his life. Shaking his head again, he just shrugged and looked back out the window.

"I've flown solo before. I can do it again," he stated, finality in his tone. Holly bit her lip, preventing herself from making any further comment. Instead, she cleared her throat, turning the conversation over to speculating about the party itself. Deep down, she had a feeling it would a touch more swanky than the previous New Year's parties she'd been to, considering there was a dress code for this one. Sam bet that the champagne served at midnight would be of a better vintage than the knock-off stuff he was served at the bar last year. Cheap swill, but he'd had enough drinks at that point that he could overlook the taste of it. A few hours in a suit would be worth it. A real suit, not the combat pack that had been shuffled into the backseat at the last minute.

Holding up a finger, she interjected, "Speaking of suiting up, I got invited to get ready upstairs with 'all the girls.' Pepper asked me to join them, probably as a bonding thing. Should be quite the estrogen fest."

"That's one way to look at it," Sam chuckled, taking the last sip of his soda and setting the cup down with a thunk.

Holly smirked to herself. "As long as wine is involved at some point, I'll be okay with whatever is thrown at me. I think Natasha might enjoy it."

"What makes you say that?"

Shooting him a quick glance, she raised her eyebrows a fraction. "The team consists of five dudes and one woman. Not to say she can't hold her own, but how she hasn't been smothered in the testosterone yet is beyond me."

"Maria works for them, too," he pointed out, leaning back in his seat. "And wasn't Steve talking about enlisting a female doctor for part-time, at least?"

"Doctor Cho, yeah. One of Bruce's colleagues," she concurred, continuing with, "Nat's still outnumbered no matter how you slice it. Personally, I will enjoy this opportunity. A CEO, an astrophysicist, two ex-agents, and a bookstore manager in one room...sounds like the set-up for a really lame joke."

Sam closed his eyes, tilting his head to the side. "With one hell of a punchline, I'd guess. I'd also suppose that if you and the other women are going to take over the Stark apartments, the rest of us fellas will have to steer clear?"

"I wouldn't exactly encourage any of you to break the perimeter, but that's ultimately your call. Follow the example of your commanding officer on this one."

Sam chuckled again. "Noted. I think we'll figure out something to do in the interim."

After all, Steve had requested his assistance with a project or two during the day, and he did want to work in some time in the infamous Stark labs so that the man himself could take a look at his wings. There would be plenty to occupy himself with. Busy, busy, busy, he thought to himself, preparing to take a little nap as she continued to drive.

Holly's mouth turned up at the corners, her voice low in deference to his choice. "Good man."  
**xXxXxXx**

A whir and a click broke through the lull of sleep, making Sam's eyes snap open before squinting against the morning light streaming through the glass, the shades sliding up automatically. Having arrived at the Tower a little after eleven o'clock, he barely managed to get proper directions from the automated voice called JARVIS before collapsing in his borrowed bed. Holly had followed him to the door, making sure he was settled in for the night before trotting off upstairs to bed herself. The guest quarters, as they were called, were situated several floors below the Avengers' floors, but they were no less grand. He still had an open concept main area, the kitchen filled with high-end appliances and brushed nickel finishes on the fixtures. What really impressed him were the digital touches found all over the place: weather read-outs on the windows, temperature and pulse settings for the shower and sink in the bathroom, and a clear platelet that allowed Internet access on its interface that could travel around the room with him.

"Should've gone into tech," he mumbled to himself, amusing himself with checking out football stats as water pulsated over him in the shower. The tiny bubble of regret popped and eased away, with Sam reckoning that he wouldn't appreciate this stuff half as much if he had continual access to it. Once he was dressed, he called up to Steve's floor to see if he was awake.

"I am, but I'm not quite ready yet," Steve confessed, sporting a lopsided grin as he turned his head to look at something off the camera. A feminine voice was calling to him, asking him a question Sam couldn't quite hear. At least Holly was making herself at home.

Cutting his gaze back, the captain instructed his partner, "Head on up to the 3rd floor of research and development. Tony's waiting for you...looked like a kid waiting for the candy store to open when I told him you brought it."

Strapping on his pack, Sam shot the display a wide-eyed look. "That excited? Really?"

Steve rolled his eyes, softening his expression a little. "You have no idea."

The display flicked off, leaving Sam with the task of doing as was suggested. Getting into the elevator, he punched the button, a nervous flutter in his stomach as he rose higher and higher. He hadn't truly met the great Tony Stark before, but his reputation was legendary, and infamous. Still, Steve vouched for him on a personal level, and that counted for a lot.

Still didn't erase the intimidation factor, though. Not entirely.

The elevator opened up on a open floor with a bank of Iron Man suits encased along a far wall. An assembly line was carrying different parts, assembled into torsos and arms and legs as they made their way under the cold hands of robots, industriously clanking away. A man only a couple inches shorter than him was waiting at one long planning table, lifting his head to meet his gaze squarely. Waving him over, he plastered on a wide smirk.

"Master Sergeant Wilson," Tony greeted him, raking one hand through his dark hair and offering the other for a handshake. Indicating the table, he swept a space clear for Sam to put the pack down. "Welcome, O Winged One. I understand you brought something new for me to tinker with."

"Yes, Mr. Stark," Sam replied, removing the pack and laying it out before the tech genius. Watching the fellow's eyes roam hungrily over it, he muttered, "I'm surprised you have the time for this today, given you have a party to set up and all."

"Tony. And believe me, nobody knows better than me what people have time to do before parties happen," the other man asserted, moving to fetch a tool box and bringing it back to the table. "Besides, I pay people to do set-up. Frees up my schedule that way. Open up this bad boy, let me see what I'm dealing with."

Acceding to his request, Sam fired up the pack, the wings springing forth and spanning the length of the table. Carefully Tony went around it, gently lifting each wing and examining the plates, his fingers gliding smoothly over the metal ("Always fun when someone brings me a military toy," he whispered, with Sam unsure about whether he was supposed to hear him or not). The tender care he was showing the equipment made Sam relax a little. Having reached a decision, Tony extracted what looked like a combination lock pick/screwdriver and began to remove a couple screws on the left wing.

"Seen a lot of home care," he mentioned casually, his keen gaze meeting Sam's briefly. He nodded, gesturing to the equipment and himself before answering.

"No one knows this pack better than me, but I can't fix everything," he told him, conceding to his lack of skill. If he wanted things to improve, if he wanted to continue being the Falcon, he needed help, and he had the best help on hand for the moment. "A couple of things have been screwy since last summer, and the retraction speed isn't what I'd like it to be."

Tony smiled, actually smiled, for a second before concentrating once more on the wings. "That I can take care of, with a few tweaks here and there. Should make the pack itself less bulky if I do some swapping, a little lighter but just as strong."

Sam looked at him, dumbstruck by the generous offer. He expected a tune-up, but an overhaul? That definitely wasn't what he was expecting. "I don't know how I can repay you."

A minute passed in which Stark said nothing, his attention on the machine before him. Looking at him closely, Sam watch the micro expressions fly over his face, the ones that held something deep-seated, hard, dark. At one time, Sam could have sworn that once you scratched the surface of the billionaire playboy, there wouldn't much beneath except for cars, women, and high-grade tech. But something in his posture, in his dark eyes told him there was so much more roiling beneath the surface. What it was, he couldn't say; he didn't know the guy well. Still, whatever it was weighed down his next words, imbued a sense of purpose and foreboding in them.

"When the time comes to use it again, just step up. That's all I ask," Tony remarked tentatively, holding his gaze for a second or two before dropping it. Reaching for another tool, he clear his throat and added on to his statement. "And you don't touch my scotch at all tonight."

Sam groaned. He would probably never let that go.

"Hey, that's the cheapest deal I've ever given anyone, take it or leave it," Stark retorted, humor lining his face. Grunting, Sam shook the proffered hand one more time, and they left it at that. They had some work to do.

**xXxXxXx**

"Can you do this for me? I'm just, I'm just not good at this sort of thing," Steve asked him when he went to his floor a couple hours later. Holly was already gone, swept into the world of female bonding, her evening gear cleared out of the quarters with her. He'd found the captain at his computer, staring at the screen and trying to make sense of his task. A hand-written list rested off to the side, one that was barely legible. "I've been putting it off for awhile, and it needs to get done before tonight."

Seating himself at the table, Sam nodded and peered at the list for a moment. A twinge of his heart pained him momentarily, and he forced himself to keep to the task at hand.

"Well, luckily for you, I have plenty of experience with this," he said, tapping a couple of keys and integrating the first title on the list into the appropriate space. Steve hovered at his shoulder, tracking his movements carefully as though he were performing a major operation rather than assembling a playlist. "Though I figured you'd have JARVIS do it."

Steve shook his head, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "I prefer not to be overly reliant on machines. No offense, JARVIS."

"None taken, sir. Though I will say that Mr. Stark has always been amenable to my choices in the past," the AI responded smoothly, a touch of indignation in the tone despite his words to the contrary.

"That may be so, but I'm not spending my night listening about 'shooting to thrill' or what have you," Steve grumbled, rolling his eyes at the air. Sam chuckled, going through the music library and collecting the next song on the list.

"Clearly you've never listened to my Christmas Funk playlist, Captain," JARVIS responded, causing the two men to share a quick glance in the silence that followed.

"Anyway...it's fairly simple, Cap, once you get it down, but I can finish this for you," Sam explained, dragging the cursor over the library again and showing him how to assemble the playlist. Steve shrugged at that.

"Guess I'm better at dropping a needle than burning a disc," he countered, crossing his arms over his chest and straightening. Sam, while his own tastes ran in a different direction than the captain's, could admire the choices he'd made. His grandma had had records, swing and jazz hits, that she played all the time in her apartment back in the day, and he remembered a few of the tracks. They were good songs, if a little old-fashioned to his ears.

"Not bad," he commented aloud, corralling the last few numbers and setting up the disc to burn the playlist. Risking a glance up, he pressed on, "Nice gesture. Not really a big deal, though."

Of course, he knew all about the surprise Steve was planning, and was willing to help facilitate it in any way he could. Practice and execution were left to his friend, but at least he was able to do this much.

The captain returned his stare, his eyes guarded and his expression unruffled. "It was a big deal to me, back in the day."

The tray popped out then, the library on the screen alerting them as well about the finished product. Handing over the disc cautiously, Sam lowered his gaze and sat back as Steve made his way over to the CD player built into the far wall, for once bypassing the record player waiting just below it. Putting the disc in, JARVIS played it upon command, and the soft strains of the first song began to play.

"Hey, it works," Sam breathed, tapping a toe to the beat as Steve closed his eyes, concentrating hard on his own thoughts. He shifted balance, one foot to the other, nodding along to the music for another minute or two before he stopped. Opening his eyes, he relaxed his posture and turned off the player in one fluid movement. Sam sighed, rising from his chair and crossing over to his friend, slapping him on the shoulder. "Good luck, Steve."

Dipping his chin, Steve's expression was a mixture of nervousness and hopefulness. He wanted to do well at this, Sam knew that. And no matter his own personal woes, he certainly didn't want him to stumble and fall on his own path.

"Thanks, Sam."

Sam smirked, giving him another clap on the shoulder before stepping away and leaning against the wall. "Anything else need to be done?"

Steve concentrated on the ceiling, hands resting on his belt as he pondered the question. "Well...we've got a few hours left before getting the show on the road. And there is a pool table upstairs."

The genuine smile that broke out on Sam's face was contagious, spreading from him to the captain fairly quickly. Pointing a finger at Steve, he issued the challenge. "You're on, Cap."

* * *

**A/N:** The party is coming soon enough, I promise. And the surprise too, so don't you worry. All I ask is that you keep speculation/predictions to yourselves for the time being, just in case somebody out there doesn't know what angle I'm going for on this.

A chapter largely about Sam this time...and yeah, he and Tori broke up. Hate to say it, but sometimes things just don't work out. He's a survivor, though. He'll make it. :) Also, awhile back I looked into what Sam's rank was supposed to me. Someone speculated that Master Sergeant seemed to be what worked in regards to the work he was doing/clearance/etc., so I went with that suggestion.

Don't own anything from the MCU. Also I don't own AC/DC or their music. But goodness gracious, _Shoot to Thrill _is used so much by Tony, it's ridiculous. Nor do I own JARVIS's funky Christmas playlist.

Anyway, thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!


	42. Chapter 42

With her garment bag in one hand, her shoes in the other, and her other essentials in the small backpack strapped on her back, Holly watched the floor indicator in the elevator climb. Blowing out a breath, she felt her stomach twist in nervous anticipation. She had nothing to fear, she knew that; after all, this wasn't the first time she was meeting any of the other women directly involved in the Avengers' lives, and it wasn't her first time participating in a sort of get-to-know-you gathering. She'd lived in dorms in college, went to start of the year floor events and interacted with other people she'd hardly known before. If she were being honest, she actually didn't mind the idea of getting ready with the other ladies all that much. Out of the group, she couldn't say she disliked any of them.

She just didn't want to embarrass herself. All the women she would be spending the day with were very powerful, very driven, and she wanted to hold her own with them. The knot of intimidation had shrunk since meeting the Black Widow, since the Thanksgiving dinner with Pepper and Jane, but she doubted she would ever get rid of it before day's end. It wouldn't dictate her, though; that much she wouldn't let it do. Holly would make the best of it, and try not to make an ass of herself in the process of engaging socially with these women.

Actually, given the context of the day's events, she reevaluated her stance to not make an ass out of herself period.

Arriving at the proper floor, she stepped off the elevator, responding to the greetings thrown her way with a tired smile, waving her shoes before moving off to deposit her things in the bedroom for the meantime. An assistant of some sort had rushed forward, grabbing her items before she could say a word. Left standing in the dust, blinking, she shook her head and moved away towards the living room area of Stark's private apartment. Joining the rest of the females gathered on the couches, she was a little surprised to have a mimosa pressed into her hand by Maria, while Pepper raised her glass in a hello before speaking.

"Thanks for coming on up, ladies," she started, dipping her chin at all of them. "I'm glad you chose to join me in getting ready for the New Year's bash tonight. Sans the intrusive male presences of our lives."

They all raised their glasses in a silent toast with her, each woman sporting a different level of enthusiasm on her face before taking sips of the orange juice and champagne. A proper girls' day for them all, especially for the ones who rarely got it. It could be fun, Holly thought to herself. It will be interesting, at the very least.

"Anything to get Tony out of your hair for a few hours, right?" Jane snickered, taking another quick swallow of her drink.

"More like out of my hair," Maria retorted, her eyes lighting up and her lips pulled into a tiny smile. "Seriously, you have to tell me your secret, Pepper."

"What secret?" Holly wondered, curious. Pepper lifted an eyebrow, a playful look on her face. She said nothing, though, so Maria felt inclined to answer for her.

"Her secret of not killing Tony on a regular basis." She threw back her drink like it was a shot, mock disgust on her face. "My God, how did you not do it? For years, I might add."

"I can imagine it could be a little...stressful," Holly said, she and Jane sharing a dubious glance. They were the only two women in the room who hadn't been directly involved in Tony's life. However, inference and even some contact with the man let them know that working for him was most likely no sinecure. Pepper narrowed her eyes, a smirk decorating her lips.

"I'm not sure my tactics of dealing with the stresses of a Stark now would be applicable to your situation," she responded, earning a couple of chuckles at the insinuation. Shrugging her shoulders, she went on, "I've found physical activity helps: yoga, that sort of thing. I also punched a lot of pillows back in my assistant days. And screamed into them."

Conversation moved away from Tony after they shared a laugh or two over that, with Jane mentioning her work with the Convergence hitting a new milestone and Pepper taking pride in her company's performance for the year. Holly shared about the bookstore a little, changing the topic over to their separate Christmas celebrations. Fingering the tags around her neck, she told them of how her niece and nephew had dogpiled Steve in the yard before showing off pictures of the kids on her phone. Natasha and Maria were not at liberty to discuss missions in full detail, but they were happy to share about their holiday escapades, one of which included enticing Dr. Banner out of the lab and onto some skates at the ice rink. They'd had to guide him, one on either side, so he wouldn't fall terribly much. He's kind of a geek, the ex-assassin had murmured, but with a soft smile that Holly couldn't recall ever seeing her sport before.

"So what on the docket for today?" Natasha asked, setting down her empty glass on the coffee table and leaning forward in her seat. Taking the cue, Pepper had told them she thought that it would be a good idea to grab lunch outside of the Tower before hitting up the salon to get ready. Reflexively, Holly felt for her wallet, calculating inwardly what she could get done and what she would have to do herself before the party. She stopped when Pepper told them that the beautifying would be on her. Amidst protests from her companions (three of whom made very good money themselves, and the fourth who didn't want to accept a favor when she didn't deserve it), Pepper waved them off. Every once in awhile, Ms. Potts had to do something fun with her hard-earned cash, and if they all had to endure an evening with stuffed shirts whom would become increasingly intoxicated, they would do so looking damn good. She could happily pay for that.

Mimosas finished, the pack of ladies chose to depart the Tower a little after one in the afternoon, a call made downstairs to have a car sent around to take them out. Pepper's assistant, helping her into her coat, made her final good-byes, as she was given a half-day and was set on going through with her own plans. As they were instructed to bring their winter gear upstairs with them, they all were ready to go in record time, crowding into the elevator and preparing to brave a wintery New York.

"First one who sings anything from _Frozen_ once we get outside is gonna get punched," Holly muttered under her breath as they descended, bracing herself for the arctic wind to hit them. Naturally, the moment after the words left her lips, she could hear one of the women humming. Shooting a dark glare to her left, Natasha merely gave her a cheeky grin, tossing her hair and practically daring her to follow through on the threat.

"Just let it go, Holly," she said, winking at her, the others smothering their giggles. Shaking her head, the other girl could do nothing but roll her eyes and continue out the door to wait on the sidewalk, smirking to herself.

"God, it's freezing out here! How can you stand it?!" Pepper grumbled, shaking like a leaf as she stumbled ahead of the group. Though not a native Californian, she had lived there long enough that powdery, icy winter weather was foreign to her. She had buried herself in layers, a cap crammed over her head and bulky gloves wrapping around her hands. If there were any snowpants to be had, she would've donned them in a heartbeat, never mind the "hot or not" obsessed paparazzi.

"It's not that I can stand it; it's just that I'm used to it happening every year," Holly said, gloved hands gesturing briefly before she tucked them back into her coat pockets. At least she could stand upright, though the chill still cut through. Shrugging and shivering simultaneously, she continued, "I grew up in Minnesota. This isn't exactly new territory for me."

Natasha nodded, chin dipping in and out of her bright purple scarf. "Compared to Russia, this is downright balmy."

"I'm with you, Pepper," Jane concurred, linking arms with the CEO in commiseration. "After being in New Mexico for so long, everywhere else I've lived has been too freakin' cold."

"Maria? You going to weigh in?" Holly asked after a moment, glancing over her shoulder. Maria, suited up in a fitted black coat and jeans, shuffled along behind her, her crimson scarf and gloves standing out amidst the grays and white shades around them.

"What I have to say shouldn't be said on a public street," she said, a corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk. At that moment, the car pulled up, a proper limousine. The driver's side door opened, and Holly watched as a bigger fellow came out. The scars on his face distracted her momentarily, and she forced herself to looked beyond them, to the stoic face underneath. His brown eyes were bright, his tone polite as he introduced himself as Pepper's head of security. As he greeted each woman, helping them into the back of the car, he took a moment with Nat, giving her a friendly smile.

"Good afternoon, Natalie," he said, not even flinching when she swatted him on the shoulder.

"Shut up, Happy."

He wagged a finger at her for a second, before extending his hand back to Holly. "Hey, I let you beat me once, I won't let you get away with it again."

Natasha snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."

Carefully, Holly entered the car after her, assisted by a snickering Happy, Maria close behind. Raising her eyebrows, she cast a look at Nat, her eyes sliding between the ex-assassin and the bodyguard. The notorious Black Widow merely smiled, circling a hand through the air.

"Long story."

Holly glanced pointedly at the watch on her wrist. "Well, we've got time."

"She's got a point," Jane said, turning her attention on the other woman. Pepper put a hand over her eyes, mumbling about boxing rings and lawsuits, which only further intrigued the others. "Oh well, now you really can't leave us hanging."

As they drove over to lunch, they were regaled with the tale of Happy Hogan, upon his first encounter with "Natalie Rushman", getting his ass kicked soundly. Considering that he was at least eight inches taller than her, and outweighed her by quite a bit, it was amusing to think of the big guy going down in less than three seconds, pinned to the mat by the determined little redhead. The little redhead in business wear, no less. That deteriorated into the events with Ivan Vanko, the mission being code named as "Whiplash", and the intrusion of SHIELD in all of their lives.

Lunch was a modest affair, as modest as it could be with being recognized and being followed by determined reporters and journalists. More of them were interested in what Ms. Potts and the Black Widow had to say in regards to their separate pursuits, but a few camera clicks were sent in Holly's direction. She'd taken to hiding beside Maria, whose stone cold glare was intimidating enough to make a few of the intruders falter in their endeavor. Even after her time knowing and dating Steve, she still wasn't entirely comfortable with those people sticking their noses into her life. She hoped she never would be.

The salon they went to wasn't the grandiose spa that Holly half expected it to be. It was decent establishment, a mix of clientele boasted in their brochure. The stations were clean, the floor pebbled rock and the décor in shades of red, white, and black. The counter stretched around from the register to the side, the staff offering coffee and tea while the customers waited. It was a pace that Holly could see herself actually visiting. As Pepper had booked the salon for the afternoon, there would not be the trouble of strangers poking in and around, staring at them. Jane, Maria, and Natasha elected to get started right away, while Holly took the time to ponder what exactly she wanted to have done. Staring at the pamphlet in her hand, she jumped when a gentle hand was laid on her shoulder.

"That brochure must be fascinating," Pepper commented, grinning as she took the seat beside her. Sheepishly, Holly ducked her head, tapping at the paper in hand with her finger.

"Just...a lot of services are offered," she replied, attempting a smile and trying to break the concerned look on her face. "A lot of...really nice ones."

Really expensive ones, she meant. Cuts, dyes, manicures, pedicures, waxing, the list went on and on. She didn't know what she could rightly ask for. She had a plan in mind, and having a professional take the reins would be ideal, but she didn't want to impose herself on someone else's dime. Judging by the way Pepper's eyes gleamed after she spoke, she knew the CEO had caught on to what she was implying.

"Don't worry about it," she murmured, folding her hands in her lap. Looking at her another moment, Pepper patted her arm, sighing a little.

"It's just, I don't know how I can pay you back," Holly told her truthfully. This was an incredible kindness on the part of Pepper, and she didn't want to take that kindness for granted. It would be awhile before she ever saw a monetary return for her generosity. Pepper, having an idea of where the younger woman's thoughts were going, shook her head.

"Look, I've been there before," she nearly whispered, not wishing to embarrass Holly. When she was first starting in her career, she'd felt so awkward when Tony offered his money freely to make her steady, to give her a chance to get her footing so that she could adequately represent him and his company. He wanted her at her best, for her sake as well as his. And in that regard, Pepper was in agreement. "You don't need to worry about paying me back. That's not the point."

"Then what is?" Holly asked, curious as to the reason why Pepper would do something like this for her, for all of them, really. Pepper shrugged.

"Gussying up a new friend so she can walk into a room full of strangers, head held high," she replied, giving her arm another pat. Holly stared at her, a little stunned. Never, ever, did she think that she could claim friendship with a woman of Pepper's caliber. But here they were, and here she was, offering companionship. And she was being genuine; Pepper had a brand of charm nearly the same level as her partner's, and could easily get along with people. Still, she seemed to be one who reserved her feelings when she needed to, and to be allowed in was something Holly couldn't help but be grateful for. If she could get on with at least one other woman involved in the crazy world of the Avengers, she would be glad it was Pepper.

"Thank you," she enthused, giving the older woman a big smile, emboldened by the offer to flag down a stylist to start work. Over her shoulder, Holly called, "I'll owe you one, then."

Pepper laughed, "Not necessary, but if it makes you feel better..."

"Baked goods! You'll be getting all the baked goods I can make...which admittedly aren't a lot, but hey..."

"So long as it doesn't have strawberries, I'll take you up on it!"

**xXxXxXx**

"Come on, Holly! What's taking so long?" Jane called out, knocking at the door. Evening had fallen, and the women had returned to the Tower to get dressed. After shooing Tony out one again (with him cursing their descent on his home and taking his suit downstairs only when Pepper passed it off with a kiss), they availed themselves some delivery, music playing softly in the background. One by one, they'd slipped on their evening wear, Maria choosing to get ready as soon as possible, and ending with Jane, who was waiting on the woman before her to finish. Problem was, she'd been trapped in the bedroom for quite awhile. The others were beginning to wonder what was going on.

"Nothing! Just...making adjustments, sorry," came a voice from the other side of the panels. Jane could have sworn she'd heard a grunt of dissatisfaction, of frustration, and her brow screwed up in concern. Sweeping back the peekaboo part in her hair, she leaned and knocked again.

"Need a hand?"

"No, I think I got it," Holly responded, a couple thumps followed by the sound of a zipper going up. Some words came tumbling out, ones that Jane could barely hear, "Bloody stockings..."

"What?"

"Nothing, I'll be out in a sec!" she cried shrilly, and with that Jane withdrew, shaking her head and parking herself on the couch. After a few more minutes, the door handle clicked, and her footsteps heralded her return to the living room. Looking her up and down, the other ladies gave wolf whistles and nods of approval. It had been a process repeated for each woman as they came out, showing off their attire for the gathering upstairs.

"No red, white, and blue?" Maria queried innocently, brushing a nonexistent wrinkle out of her dress, a black knee-length with red accents. Tilting her head, her updo shifted with her, immovable, while her drop earrings swung lightly. Holly, shifting a little to let Jane past, groaned.

"There's already one person in my relationship that is a walking flag. I prefer it not to be me," she retorted, reaching up to make sure her own earrings were secured. "And he's definitely not dressing that way tonight, either."

Pepper shrugged, leaning back in her seat and tucking her feet up under her, hidden in the folds of her midnight blue skirts. Patting the low bun in her hair, she said, "Well, I suggested them wearing the uniforms as part of some advertising but—"

"It was shot down," Natasha cut in, crossing her arms over her chest, a pointed glare sent in Pepper's direction. A flash of leg showed through the slit of her deep purple dress as she adjusted her seat, her curls shaking minutely and diamond-studded pins glittering in the low light. "You know what happens when Tony brings the suit to parties."

Raising her hands in surrender, Pepper let it go. Instead, they turned the conversation onto other matters, while Holly began to gather up her things. Swiftly, she padded out to the elevator, with promises to meet up with them during the party thrown over her shoulder. Excitement sat in the pit of her stomach, as well as apprehension. The last time she had been kitted out to the nines had been her sister's wedding four years ago. Even if it was stressed that they were to have the best time possible with a lot of important personages there, she knew that she would be in turn representing not only Steve, but the majority of the Avengers. Since she had chosen to come, she would do her level best to show support in whatever way she could. She just hoped she would come out alright by the end of the evening.

And if Steve liked how she turned out, then so much the better. As the elevator stopped on his floor, she stepped off, dropping her bags to one side and rubbing her hands together briefly. Sam had long since departed, his plan being to meet them both upstairs after the first guests' arrival. Instead of keying in the code, she chose to knock, bouncing a little in her heels.

"Steven, I've come to pick you up," she crooned, smoothing down her dress carefully. "If you don't hurry, we'll miss the prom!"

Crossing her fingers, she waited for him to take the joke. The huff on the other side of the door was enough to make her giggle silently, but his answering words made her laugh outright.

"Did you remember my corsage, dear?"

"No, but I do have a little something," she remarked, stooping to pick out the object from her backpack. Hearing the door swish open, she straightened, hand clutched over her heart at being startled. "Oh! I knew it was coming, but..."

The words dried up in her mouth when she took in the sight of Steve. Of all the outfits she'd seen him in, none of them could quite compare to seeing him in a proper suit. As stated before, there was not a touch of red or blue on him, just a black jacket, vest, and slacks with a pressed white shirt. All were fitted to his build, accentuating his form and making him stand a little taller. His tie was slightly askew, but it hardly registered with her. Holly had always thought Steve was handsome, from the first (and then he'd broken, bruised, and bleeding), but...heat raced from her heart down her belly as she kept looking, unabashed.

Meanwhile, his gaze slid over her while she was still staring at him. Her dark hair was curled and loose, part of it pinned back and revealing the crystal cuff earrings she was wearing. The dog tags were absent, replaced with a silver and crystal necklace settled just above the curve of her breasts. Dark green had been her choice of color, the sleeves capping her shoulders and her arms bare save for a silver bracelet on her wrist. But there was more to it than that. Something about the ensemble seemed familiar to him...when he realized it, his eyebrows inclined a fraction.

Holly had tried to emulate the 1940's look. She'd chosen something that, while it wasn't completely on the nose, was reminiscent of things the girls wore in his past. Similar design, but still modern enough for her tastes. From her hair right down to the ruby red lipstick she sported, she was attempting to appeal to his past sensibilities. And God help him, he liked it, if the tingle down his spine and the hot trail spiraling down his abdomen were any indication.

Coming back to her senses, Holly stepped into the doorway, reaching up and straightening his tie, taking the open opportunity to touch him.

"My, my. You do clean up nice, Captain," she said, grinning up at him and laying her free hand on his chest, fingers trailing down to the buttons of his jacket. Placing his hand over hers, his fingers caressed her briefly before he moved off and bent down to bring her things inside. As she shifted out of the way and further into his quarters, he watched her go. His eyes were drawn to her legs for a moment or two, before he completed his task quickly and strode back to her.

"You look beautiful," he said, sincerity in his tone. As if afraid he would do irreparable damage to what she'd put together, he traced a finger along her jaw, holding himself back from reaching for more. Risking another look downward, he pointed and asked, "Are those stockings?"

"Yeah. Actual, honest-to-God ones, with a garter belt and all," she said casually, as though getting the lines straight and the stupid things attached correctly hadn't been a big deal. He gave her a clipped nod, his eyeline dropping to stare at their feet. Tilting his chin up with her hand, she could see his pupils dilate when she brushed against his skin. "What do you think?"

What he thought could not get past his tongue, the picture in his head was so vivid. Therefore, he said nothing. Rather, she got a good idea of his opinion when he held her gaze, the intensity of it becoming almost too much for her. Clearing her throat, she offered up the square of cloth in her hand, folding it neatly before putting it in the breast pocket of his jacket. It matched the color of her dress, with pinpricks of black thread dotting it.

He snorted, smirking down at her. "You know, branding me would have been just as effective."

Holly shrugged, unapologetic. "Less painful giving you a pocket square. And it goes both ways."

Taking the point, he sighed and took her hands in his, thumbs sweeping across her knuckles. "Last chance to skip out."

Last chance to escape, her brain had whispered, last chance to get away before they all come to stare at you. Before they all begin to wonder who you are, where you belong in this messy outfit. Deep down, she knew he wasn't saying it just for her benefit. If she could give them an out, he would take it.

It was too important to miss, though. Too many influential people would be there, ones that the Avengers needed on their side so they could continue working for the greater good. Steve had to be there, to meet with them and prove that he and the others were a worthy gamble for various industries and governments to take. Public support was one thing; it was the private support they all needed to work on tonight. If he could do his part, so could she.

Pulling herself to her full height, Holly tilted her head to the left and said, "I don't get all dolled up if there's nowhere to go, sweetheart. Come on."

Taking his cue from her, he placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, tucking the other into his pocket and leading them both out the door. She squeezed his bicep as they waited for the elevator to arrive, giving him a broad smile when glanced at her, one that banished the remaining doubts.

"Stand your ground, and show no fear," Steve murmured, stepping into the elevator after Holly. Curiously, she stared up at him.

"You saying that to me or to yourself?"

He gave her a rueful look. "Maybe a little of both."

The elevator doors swept open then, and after a deep breath, they took the first step out together into the glittering crowd awaiting them.

* * *

**A/N:** Yay, women bonding, or something. :-P I may or may not have borrowed the idea of Maria asking Pepper how she does the thing where she doesn't kill Tony from a Tumblr post. Maybe...and don't worry, my eyes are naturally this shifty.

Sorry for the clothing porn, didn't mean to make it excessive. Also, Chris Evans in a suit...whoof. That is a nice image. ;)

Yay, Happy made a brief appearance. Back in the day, when _Iron Man 2 _first came out, I hardcore shipped Happy and Natasha. I thought it was cute. Oh, to be young and impulsive again...

All references to the MCU are owned by the MCU producers, etc., etc. I own nothing. I also don't own _Frozen_ or related contents. That's all Disney right there.

I don't have much to say in this author's note. All I can say is that I hope you liked the chapter!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	43. Chapter 43

The top floors had been transformed, fairy lights and candles glimmering along the alcoves and bar. It maintained the cool, sleek exterior that Steve was all too familiar with, but the edges were blunted, softer. The laboratory was blacked out, the hospital bay shaded with draperies, the emphasis on the docking bay and the Quinjet behind the glass walls. Lighted panels glowed with different colors, alternating every few seconds. Servers bustled around, a hired bartender steadily mixing drinks for the people who wanted options besides wine, black being the clothing theme among them. A pianist was stationed at the grand instrument off to the side, earning his wage and then some, a handsome fellow who was competent enough to charm and play at the same time.

The guests (impeccably dressed, as expected) were greeted, shown into the main floor, where they could indulge in drink and food as they chose. The main action would take place there, though they could solicit any of the team for a tour of the common facilities. That way, Tony had said, they could observe what the Avengers had to work with, to see how much went into supplying the world's foremost specialist task force. Though Stark Industries was able to pay out of pocket for basically everything, it would not hurt them to gain what support they could, especially with the government. With SHIELD laid to waste, they had few options to turn to in regards to a non-militarized group. Publicity, positive publicity, was called for, and New Year's Eve provided an ample opportunity for it.

"Grease the wheels, kiss ass: whatever phrase you prefer, it needs to happen," Stark had murmured to Steve and Holly when they entered the party, his dark suit smart and a pleasant smile on his face that was about as genuine as the rocks in Holly's earrings. A server came by, tray of drinks on hand, and immediately Holly scooped up a glass of red wine and took a hearty sip of it. Catching Steve's raised eyebrow, she inclined her own at him.

"Hey, I'm just fortifying myself," she murmured. Nodding to the host of the evening and the glass in his hand, she continued, "Following Mr. Stark's sterling example."

Steve snorted, his mouth turning up at a corner. "I don't know if 'sterling' is the right word for it."

"Teflon is more accurate; say what you like, it won't stick to me." Tony returned the grin with his own. Knocking back his glass of scotch like the seasoned veteran that he was, the billionaire stepped into the flow, shaking hands with a colleague who had arrived from out west that morning.

Following his lead, Steve steered Holly around the edge of the room, his hand firmly placed against the small of her back. Both of them combed the crowd for their fellows. Barton had taken to escorting an older couple along the upper deck, miming at pulling a bowstring at an invisible target. Natasha and Bruce were quietly conversing by the staircase, something the scientist said making the ex-agent chuckle. Pepper was in her element, moving from person to person, a word here and there smoothing ruffled feathers and encouraging conversation. Tony appeared on and off by her side, though he also popped up by Jane, discussing the Convergence. Every now and again, one or the other of the Avengers would be drafted into doing a short tour. Maria often took the reins for them, an expert escort, being delightfully vague when she needed to be as far as schematics and plans were concerned. Thor seemed to be everywhere at once, leaving a wake of awed men and women staring up at the literal embodiment of a god as he passed by.

The people Steve and Holly encountered weren't as overly awed, but they were still mightily impressed with the American hero coming into their presence. Honestly, they didn't have much to say to Holly, making polite chatter as she gave her name and described her profession (several of the men and women there made her yearly salary in a week, but at least they were tactful enough not to mention it). A couple of elderly women, shaking her hand, had confessed their childhood crushes on the memory of the Star Spangled Man with a Plan, and expressed a sort of jaded admiration for her "accomplishment." The word rankled, as if dating Steve had been a contest prize, or a scholarship awarded to her rather than a chosen course based on mutual respect and caring. Mostly, though, she was ignored as if she was part of the scenery. That she could handle; it allowed her to observe the others without needing to be constantly tuned in, as well as helping herself to the tomato bruschetta and pigs in a blanket when they went by. One guest, an aide from Washington, had attempted to schmooze Captain America and his girl, laying on the charm so thick she could have cut it with a knife. His handshake had been more disconcerting than his words, his middle finger sliding around her palm and causing her to jerk back unceremoniously. Discreetly, she wiped her hand on the skirt of her dress, lacing her fingers with Steve's and squeezing hard, communicating her discomfort in the only way she could. That encounter ended rather quickly, thankfully.

That wasn't to say that there weren't some good people there. Representatives from other tech conglomerates were to be expected, so Holly wasn't surprised in the least to meet with those people. A few senators, including the one who set up Steve's speech months ago, were also in the crowd, mingling with the upper crust of New York society. However, there were a few artists, some actors who frequented Broadway, a couple big names from the literary world were sipping wine and milling around. One of the top fantasy writers was in the far corner, and she had broken away from Steve for a few moments, giving him a swift peck and promise to meet up with him shortly. There was no way she was going to pass up the opportunity to speak with an author whose work she really liked. Besides, Steve seemed to be pleased to be speaking with some veterans of the war who had made their way upstairs, men who lived through the same things he had, and she didn't want to take him away from that. After a brief introduction with the author, she listened as he continued his discussion about the television adaptation of his novels. He answered a few questions regarding the historical inspirations for the series' events, ones that had sat at the back of Holly's mind for ages. The fellow was a little gruff, but otherwise was gracious enough to answer her queries.

When she finished with him, Holly attempted to find her boyfriend again, a little surprised that she was able to lose him in the crowd (given his height, she should have been able to spot him quickly). With polite nods and smiles as she weaved her way through everyone, she arrived at the bar, plunking down in an empty seat near the end. One of the servers settled nearby her, her tray clapped onto the bar and a request for chardonnay coming off her lips, for a group several feet away who did not want to make the trip over.

"Busy night?" she inquired, a knowing look on her face and her lips twisting wryly. The server blew out a breath, a tired smirk gracing her mouth. She brushed back her light blonde bangs, securing them with her bobby pin.

"You've no idea," the young woman responded, checking over her shoulder to make sure nobody would approach her before she was ready. The bartender poured as swiftly as he could, keeping an eye on Holly just in case she decided she needed something. Her wine glass had been emptied and abandoned long ago, but she was in no hurry to ask for another.

Holly nodded, a flash of memory bringing her back to her first job at sixteen: waitressing for a local diner. Long hours, stiff tipping, and swallowing down every evil thought she'd had about the people she'd served with a wide smile on her face. She trucked through that job for two years; it was not the most pleasant experience.

"Been there. At least this is a step up from Denny's or something, right?"

"Slightly," the server giggled, relaxing minutely when she realized that Holly wouldn't get her in trouble for being honest. "Tips from a Tony Stark party will go a long way."

"Not to mention all the interesting dirt you're overhearing," Holly rejoined, making the woman laugh again, the pasted grin turning a little more real in that second.

"I should start a gossip blog, with all I'm learning. So many people have quite a few opinions about the Avengers. And their companions." She cast a significant glance at the young woman in dark green, softening it with a sympathetic grin.

The jovial look on her face dimmed. "I assume they're not all glowing descriptions."

"I may have heard the term 'gold digger' once or twice in reference to...certain persons," the blonde server said, sounding a little sheepish at bringing up the topic. The skeptical glance thrown her way informed her that the 'person' in question knew there was more to be said than that. That had happened to be the most polite term tossed around. Hastily, she added, "But only, like, from a couple people."

_'A couple of very uninformed people,' _Holly snapped in her head, frowning briefly to herself. She wasn't here to make new friends, had known due to months of Internet speculation from other strangers that there were going to be people who thought the worst of her for no valid reason, but it was still grating how it got under her skin. Inhaling slowly, she tried to keep herself under control. There was a purpose for being here, and even if she couldn't find Steve at the moment, she wouldn't ditch out just because she wasn't the most popular girl in the room. Never had been, never would be, and she could live with that. Oh well, nothing for it. She didn't have the highest opinions of some of the members of the crowd, either. The only difference was she hadn't voiced them to others around her.

After another breath or two, she managed to look placid, calm enough that the server lost the uncertainty in her eyes. The bartender, after letting the piano music drift over for a moment, cleared his throat and tapped the edge of the tray, breaking the spell. It was full of wine glasses again, and with a sigh, the young lady retrieved it, dipping her head in thanks to the bartender.

"Well, back into the breach."

Holly saluted her with two fingers. "'God for Harry, England, and St. George.'"

With a final giggle, the server departed, fitting seamlessly back into the crowd. A clink caught Holly's attention, made her turn to look as the bartender released the tumbler in hand. Carefully he pushed it towards her, the amber liquid inside wavering.

"Some people are dicks. Screw 'em," he said by way of explanation, pushing his side-swept hair out of his face. He maintained his friendly expression as she lifted it to her nose, smelled the whiskey and wince. Her personal preference ran towards vodka, but she wasn't about to get picky. Raising it in a silent toast, she took a big swallow, the burn coating her throat and making her cough a little when it cleared. "Taking it like a champ; I like that in a woman."

"Earning your tips tonight, aren't you?" she retorted, keeping her tone light, casting a glance at the jar set up at the opposite end. He shrugged, the confidence in his gaze glowing. She could respect that. A low baritone voice filtered into her hearing, filling her with relief as she spotted Steve reappearing nearby, Sam hot on his heels. Getting up from the stool, she held up a single finger. "Hold that thought."

The bartender watched as she crossed over to the captain, the taller man bending an ear to her words before they were lost in the murmur of the crowd. Blue eyes darted over him, returning to the dark ones at his side. He barely inclined his head, taking her glass out of her grip and escorting her out of of the room. Several minutes passed in which they did not return, and so the bartender went back to his work.

Soon enough, a familiar tone made him glance up from the bottles he was storing.

"Hey. Had to go downstairs for a moment." Holly had returned, a couple of bills in hand. Multiple fives, as it turned out. Tucking over some, she went on, "Please give these to, uh..."

"Jessie," the bartender supplied, knowing whom she was referring to. The brunette smiled a little, grateful for the save.

"Ah, Jessie. And these are for you—"

"Reed," he said, tapping his name tag and taking the tips from her. "Thank you."

She smirked, taking a step back from the bar. "If I'm a gold digger, I've gotta be one of the nicer ones you've met, right?"

He chuckled, slipping the bills into his pocket. "True."

**xXxXxXx**

An hour later, Steve found himself separated from Holly again. Indeed, he found himself mostly alone, leaning against a pillar and his arms crossed over his chest. In truth, he needed the break; he was by no means agoraphobic, but even he had his limits to how much interaction he could handle in a controlled setting. His gaze flicked around, on alert as ever. It was doubtful anyone in this crowd would have any truly terrible intentions, but that was only because they most likely did not want to dirty their own hands. No, if trouble came, it would be from an outside force. Shaking his head, he tried to focus on other things, other thoughts.

Drawn back to the crowd, a flash of green filtered in, pulling his gaze. Holly was standing on the lower steps of the staircase, chatting with Sam as a pair of older gentlemen stepped behind them. Pepper stood in their midst, gesticulating widely in description of some event. The company engaged, they didn't notice the avid blue eyes watching. A smile tugged at Steve's lips; for being thrown into the deep end, she was holding her own in the sea of strangers. Often she spoke of being proud of him, his achievements, his efforts, but he shared the same sentiments for her. Her courage, her honesty, her willingness to try.

As if sensing his thoughts, Holly looked in his direction, finding him half-hidden in shadow. The tiny, discreet smile she sent him warmed his heart, pooled downward. Her hand reached up, tucking some stray hair behind her ear, the stones winking in the light as the gentleman to her right asked a question. Her face turned in profile as she answered, the line of her neck unmarred. Lower still, Steve stared at the curves hinted at beneath the dress, her legs cut off from view but not from his memory. He shifted, taking a ragged breath; God, she was gorgeous tonight. God, he loved her.

"Strong as ever, I see." Natasha had appeared at his side, and when he looked down at her, her stoic expression was softened with a slight grin. She'd followed his gaze from the shadows, flicking her eyes between them in an unmistakable gesture.

"Yes," he intoned quietly, his tone leaving no room for doubt. Smirking, he asked, "Expecting something different?"

Natasha shook her head, the look on her face softening further. "Not really. I just recall you saying something about lack of shared life experience between you and today's women being a problem. I've been curious about how you've overcome that."

Nearly taking umbrage at her words, Steve quickly noted the sincerity in her face. She wasn't making a judgment call, wasn't taking him to task. Just a friend, happy to see his life take a positive turn, wondering what made it so. Exhaling, he thought about his answer for a minute.

"Well, the thing I've learned about shared life experience is that you need to be able to share it with someone," he murmured, the truth of the words hitting him in that moment. Growing up in different times, in nearly different worlds, did not take away from living life together in that moment. All it took was an offer, and an acceptance. "I just had to take a chance."

Letting that soak in for several minutes, the pair continued to observe, picking out idiosyncrasies of the people gathered. Keeping an eye out for teammates and their movements. A force of habit too ingrained to break. Finally, Natasha sighed, patting him on the arm.

"There are worse people to take a chance on," she said, nodding again at Holly. "She's a good bet."

Steve shot her a look of mild surprise, to which the Black Widow raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Nine months had passed since the women had first met, and though they weren't bosom pals, there was enough there to eradicate the distrust that had cropped up at the beginning. Conceding on the point, being truthful in her opinion, she wanted him to know that.

"Wow, high praise," he quipped after a second or two, a guffaw behind him causing them both to glance at the new arrival.

"Soak it in. It doesn't come around too often." Clint shouldered into the conversation then, loosening his tie and snickering at the grim line of Natasha's mouth. He saw through her facade of offense, and ignored it. "You do have a reputation for being a bit of a hardass, Nat."

She tossed her hair, not apologetic in the slightest. "One of us needs to be."

Slipping her arm through Barton's, she walked him out of the shadows, shooting the captain a last look as they threaded between a cluster of couples. Once they disappeared, Steve shrugged to himself, glancing back to the stairs and sighing. Gone. She'd gone again, Pepper with her as well. Straightening, he muttered quietly, hoping that he'd find Holly before midnight.

**xXxXxXx**

Ditching her whiskey tumbler on a standing table, Holly exhaled sharply, brushing down her dress and tottering forward. A hollow sound filled her ears for a short moment, before being filled once more. The background music had changed tenor, taking a decidedly funkier angle, as opposed to variations of several styles that had been occurring the last few hours. Circling close to the piano, Holly altered her course when she recognized the musician at the bench.

Standing at the corner of the keyboard, she waited until the player looked up at her, resignation on his face. "I didn't know you could play."

Tony Stark snorted, never pausing in the tune. "What, you thought I kept a grand piano for decorative purposes?"

A smarmy smirk threatened to bloom on her features. "The thought had crossed my mind."

Edging a little closer, she listened in silence as Tony plunked between tunes. The crowd had noticed the change in entertainment, and some of them paused to stare at the tech genius, the self-proclaimed Iron Man, trip gracefully over chords. The coiled energy that seemed to permeate from him had mellowed, his posture fluid in a way that was uncommon to see in him. Holly tilted her hand, tapping her fingers in time on the corner of the instrument.

"How'd you get into it?" she asked, genuinely curious about this seldom-seen side of Stark.

"It was my mom's doing," he said, his eyes fixing on the middle distance, a faded memory returning. His mother, dark hair swinging around her face, her firm hands guiding his, showing him how to find middle C. "Taught me to tickle the ivories herself."

The wealth of feeling in the words flowed over her, and she reckoned delving too deep at this point would not be good. Rather, she wondered rhetorically, "Is there anything Tony Stark can't do?"

Tony thought for a moment, fingers moving deftly along the keys. "Make a soufflé. Or anything that has to do with extensive cooking. I could set the sink on fire, I swear."

"I sense experience speaking on that score," she replied, smirking as he shot her a dark look. Her eyebrows inclined slightly, daring him to deny it. Shrugging, he focused his gaze back on the piano.

"Hey, I wouldn't say too much, Miss I-Blew-Up-A-Microwave."

She closed her eyes, rolling them behind the lids. Of course Steve would tell him that story. Well, she had been six at the time; mistakes happened often at that age. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she groaned aloud.

"Firstly, it was just the plastic plate in the microwave and secondly..." she trailed off, shaking her head at his smirk, "just play, damn it."

"Since you asked nicely...any requests?" he asked, knowing he had some time before the hired pianist returned from his smoke break.

"Whatever you've got, Piano Man." Resting her hip against the piano, she held her tongue as he chose. The music was slower, a change of arrangement for an older song. It was smooth, slow, lovely. All that was missing was accompaniment by a full band. And under the chords, she could just make out Tony's voice gliding over the words, a side rarely exposed to the world. Mentally, she chimed in with him, her expression turning pensive. At roughly halfway through the song, she cleared her throat. "So, quite a turn-out for this. A nice mix."

"I've got ties all over," he piped up, not a little proud of the fact. Her eyebrows inclined a fraction, and she debated whether or not to push it. Making up her mind, she pressed forward.

"Including a publisher or two, it seems." She indicated the two older gentlemen she'd spoken with before, two easygoing fellows who had been producing books years before she was born. They seemed interested in her premise, and she knew it was more than good luck that brought them to her. She watched Tony, watched his clever gaze flick over her, not in the least abashed about it. In fact, he took that moment to look particularly smug.

"Like I said, ties all over," he confirmed, returning her frank look. Her ongoing novel wasn't exactly a secret (Steve certainly shared, even if she kept a firm lid on the details), and if she ever got around to completing it, she would need to look into agents, publishers, the like. He had resources, he pooled them; it was up to her to do the legwork. "I take it you spoke to them."

Slowly she nodded, still a little floored that she'd actually put in a few good words with them. "I did."

"Good," Tony muttered, shooting her a look of approval as he played the final chords of the song. "Just remember to dedicate the book to me when you become a world-famous author."

"You want your name in a romance novel?"

He frowned then. "Oh, crap."

She stuck her tongue out at him, cuffing him lightly on the shoulder as he shuddered at the idea. Minutes went by, with her listening to the music Tony provided without further commentary. Soon enough an arm curled around her waist, pulling her in close. Indignant at first, she looked up into the incorrigible man, hand pressed over his heart and stretching up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"I was wondering where you'd gone off to," she said, Steve's grip tightening slightly as her breath ghosted over his ear. Stark's clearing throat cut in, forcing him back to the present.

"Didn't know there was a show going on. I might've dropped by sooner," he said, resting a hand on the side of the piano. Tony opened his mouth to reply, when a tap on his shoulder interrupted him. The hired pianist had returned, the acrid smell of cigarette smoke wafting and burning in Steve's nose.

"Sad to say you missed it, Rogers," Stark told him, standing up and putting his hands in his pockets. Sidestepping, he allowed the pianist to resume his place.

Steve sighed, as if greatly disappointed. "Another time, then."

The other man grinned, his dark gaze running over both him and the young woman at his side before he walked off.

"Maybe." Taking out his hand held, Tony tutted under his breath at the time, motioning to Pepper and mouthing a few words to her. Soon enough, the servers were trading their trays of hors d'oeuvres for flutes of champagne. As those were handed out, a digital screen hovered at the far end of the room, drawing attention as the sound system picked up the audio. The bash happening below in Times Square showed, the announcer prepping the masses in New York to greet the change of the clock and calendar. The last seconds of the year ticked away onscreen, all eyes fastened to it in anticipation and the chatter taking on an enthusiastic bent. However, instead remaining mixed in with the others, Holly felt Steve's fingers on her elbow, shifting her backward to the fringes. Stepping carefully, she glanced up at him, a nervous flutter in her stomach. Was something wrong? Did he spot something insidious in the crowd, and was he trying to get her to safety? Nothing about his posture screamed for urgency, but he did look eager to get out of the way.

"Come with me?" he asked, low enough so that only she could hear. "Please?"

"Of course," she answered, brow furrowed and fingers twisting in the folds of her skirt. "What's wrong?"

The half-grin he sported, the one she adored, lit up his eyes as he tipped his head to the left.

"Very quick to assume the worst."

She snorted lightly, a little assuaged by his demeanor. "Given the circumstances of our lives, is it such a huge leap?"

"I suppose not," Steve conceded, looking into his champagne flute ruefully. Taking her free hand in his, he pulled her in closer. "I promise, it's not bad."

"Might it have something to do with that surprise you've been promising me?"

The kiss on her temple was his response, his gesture to the hall unmistakable.

Taking that into consideration, she nodded, trusting him with his word. The party guests were growing louder, a little rowdier, too caught up in the nearing new year and themselves to notice where one of the guests of honor and his companion had disappeared to. Very well; Captain America wanted to sneak out, and she was happy to oblige. Dipping her chin, she let him guide her down the long hall to the back elevator, as the countdown began. The ringing voices chanted, swirling and echoing after them.

Stepping into the elevator, the doors whisked shut as the guests screamed, "Three, two, one—"

"Happy New Year," Holly murmured, raising her glass and clinking it against Steve's. He followed her lead, though his drink was like water to his system. After wine and whiskey, Holly was treading carefully and took a small sip. A little fun, a little tipsy was okay, but she did not want to cross over into being completely drunk. Flicking her eyes to the panel on the wall, she saluted it as well. "Happy New Year, JARVIS."

"Thank you, Miss Martin, and to you as well, Captain," the AI replied, the smooth voice sounding almost human in its felicitations. Off Steve's noncommittal response, JARVIS continued, "Captain, as per your earlier request I have informed Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts of your intentions and regrets of leaving early. The privacy protocols have also been set for the remainder of the night."

"Thank you," he replied, not quite meeting her inquisitive stare. Shaking her head, she poked him on the arm.

"Okay, now you really can't leave me hanging after that."

He didn't answer her, just moved in closer and cupped her jaw, stroking his thumb across her skin as the elevator stopped on their floor. The doors opened, neither made a move off of it. Eyes half closed, she thought he would kiss her then, but instead he drew in a deep breath, exhaled sharply. A flicker of emotion flitted over his face, one that she recognized as unsure. The question on her tongue died as he backed up, placing her fingers in the crook of his arm and walking out of the paused elevator. After opening the door, Steve tapped a few extra numbers on the pad, the interior of the room going dark for a few seconds. Following him inside, the pair maneuvered around the bags still left in the corridor.

The walls were shaded, the city a dim outline beyond the panels. Lamp light was low, and the room was dotted with starlight everywhere, it seemed. It was a manipulation of lights, most likely thanks to Stark and JARVIS. It was simple, but it was still very cool to her. There was enough light for Steve to see her pleased expression, and for him to return it. As she stopped to look at it all, he moved away, darting into the kitchen to set down his flute before getting down to business. Pushing the sofa out of the way, followed by the armchairs, the wide space opened up even further, leaving the duo with a lot of room to work with.

Holly watched it all, incredulous. Her offers of help were politely refused, and when he went over to the wall stereo, she was even more confused. "Steve, what's all this?"

As the opening chords played over the built-in speakers, the song gathering pace, he turned, his eyes locked on hers for a long moment. Steve had asked the question only a few times in his entire life, and was never able to see it through. The drop in his stomach came again, one that time could not fully erase. But he knew that, with Holly, the outcome could be different. Things were different, because of her.

All he had to do was ask.

That in mind, he set his shoulders, moving towards her. Determinedly, he came within three paces of her, extending his hand.

"Will you...will you dance with me, Holly?"

* * *

**A/N:** ...Surprise. ;) Oh, did I fake some of you out? Bear in mind the significance of dancing when it comes to Steve...we are not done with this night yet, so hang on. (I know, longest day ever, but just stick with it!)

I don't own anything from the MCU. And yes, I do think Tony knows how to play piano, considering he's had a piano in every one of his residences throughout the MCU timeline. Also, Holly paraphrased _Henry V _again. ANd I do have particular songs in mind for both Tony's stint at the piano and for Steve's playlist. Ask if you would like to know!

High fives all around; this is the longest chapter ever of the story. And speaking of the story, I have reached a decision. _At Day's End_ will be finished in a few chapters' time. I don't have an exact count for you yet, but I do know that the story itself will be finished with the next month or so. HOWEVER, this is not the end as far as Steve and Holly are concerned. After all, we have a certain age to enter, a certain chain of events involving a hope for peace in our time. ;) I'm just preparing you all for it, because it will be coming soon. I promise, I will let you know all about it when we get closer to it. It's not over yet.

At this point in time, I will now allow discussion to commence. :-P

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you all for the next one!


	44. Chapter 44

Holly blinked, a little stunned by the request to dance. Of her expectations of the evening, this certainly wasn't one of them. Her lips quirked into a partial grin, wondering at the angle. Steve's hand remained stretched out to her, hopefulness in his gaze as he watched her, waiting. Another moment passed, and she placed her champagne glass on the floor, out of the way. Carefully, she placed her right in his left, letting him pull her towards the center of the open space. It was impossible to miss the brightness in his eyes, the immense look of joy on his face as he drew her in. With his other hand placed just above the small of her back, and hers anchoring along his shoulder, he cleared his throat, taking a hesitant first step. It was a false start, one that she responded to by squeezing his fingers gently.

_'You can do it,' _she silently persuaded him, nodding minutely to encourage him further. He dipped his chin, and started again, that time stepping with a little more confidence. They went along for a while, following the slower tune, with Steve mentally recalling the steps as he led her around the room. Still, even though she stumbled a couple of times, and his toes glanced across hers (she denied him actively stepping on them, loyal even with the pained grimace) the pair were able to dance passably well.

"I thought you didn't know how to dance," she said to him later, getting very comfortable as he started to hold her closer.

Steve shrugged, smiling as his fingers adjusted under her palm. "Surprise. Though, I'm no Fred Astaire."

"Must be Ginger, then," she stated quietly, raising her eyebrows at him and smirking. "Right, Rogers?"

He rolled his eyes, not able to hide the humor in them. "Very clever."

"Well, you are a blond _tour de force_..."

"Alright, knock it off."

The hand on his shoulder flexed up, admitting surrender as Holly chuckled. "Okay, okay, I'm done. This is really nice."

"This is good?" he asked, a thin wedge of uncertainty lacing the words. Her grin stretched, the hand on his shoulder sliding to brush his neck.

"Very good, sweetheart."

Nodding once, he resumed his pleased expression. "I owe Sarah a thank-you, then."

A ghost of a gasp escaped her lips.

"Oh, so now I know what you did with your time while I was at work." She'd wondered, on those days when she had to be away and he was home, what he'd done while she was gone the last few weeks. Her eyebrows rose, the pieces falling into place.

"Yeah." A thought turned over in his head, one that he gave voice to. "You know, for being a small woman, she really demands attention."

Truthfully, Sarah was no softy as a teacher. She expected him to do his best in the short time frame he'd given her to work with, and then some. If he wanted to be remotely ready, he had to work hard, and trust his partner to trust in him as much as he in her. It was only a handful of lessons, but Sarah would not let him slide by. After all, he'd woken her before 9 AM to make this request, she'd told him. He damn well better face the consequences. Aaron, who had come to pick her up after one of their lessons, had heard that and guffawed a little. Until Steve stared him down; then he coughed and pretended he hadn't heard a thing.

Holly laughed again. "She coaches competition-level dancing, what else did you expect?"

The playlist consisted of slower songs, all designed to keep to their respectively low skills levels, but soon enough, Holly wanted to try something a little more upbeat. Breaking away, she turned down the stereo and retrieved the laptop left on the table, tapping away until she found something in the iTunes that was in step with that idea. After all, she'd learned a thing or two from her best friend over the last few years, and with the duet singing, the band swinging the music, Holly had Steve follow her lead. It wasn't the smoothest of movements, but they got through it, with some laughter and smiles (and with her kicking off her shoes; her feet were killing her after an evening spent in heels). And that neat trick of looping hands over necks and sliding their arms across each other. That was a proud moment, until she sidestepped and hip-bumped him accidentally.

When they moved back to the slower stereo music, Holly put her arms around Steve's neck, swaying with him to the tempo. As he brought down his forehead to rest against hers, she had to ask. The tiny grain of confusion still sat inside her, and she wasn't able to keep it in for much longer.

"Steve?"

"Yeah?"

Preparing to look the gift horse in the mouth (knowing full well she might be kicking herself for it later), she drew back and continued, "This has been great, a fun surprise, but...I feel like there's something here that I'm not getting."

It was just a feeling, and she was just going with it. Maybe it was nothing. Or something.

Steve blinked, sighing a little under his breath. "Perceptive."

It was her turn to shrug, gesturing with a palm up. They stopped swaying, with her lacing her fingers with his and instead walking him off the side. Resting her shoulder against the wall, she didn't release her grip, but she did reach up to toy with the buttons on his open jacket.

"I can be, on occasion. Especially when you looked like I've hung the moon and the stars for you just by agreeing to dance."

His half grin returned, a touch more wistful than before.

"Maybe because you did," he told her, and off her snicker and playful roll of the eyes, he tapped the hand on his jacket. Raising an eyebrow, he murmured, "You laugh, but well..."

"I'm not laughing, promise," she swore, letting go and holding up three fingers in a mock salute. "Scout's honor."

Steve took his time forming his answer, focusing at the chain around her neck. The false crystal stones reflected and resembled the lights around them. It was a far cry from the simple chain and tags she now wore on a daily basis. A beautiful stark line, which he fingered for a second and distorted it.

_'Tell me. What am I missing?' _she pleaded in her mind, her dark gaze unyielding. Steve, true to his upbringing, didn't like to talk about his feelings often, and she figured this touched on that. Blowing out a short breath, he opened his mouth.

"Dancing was...so different, back in the day. For me, at least. It was just another one of those things...that I wasn't good at," Steve began, leaning back against the wall and tipping his chin up towards the ceiling. "And I never had a chance to get good at it. A scrawny, little guy doesn't have much of a chance with girls in a big dance hall."

Holly outwardly scoffed, catching him off-guard. This tune sounded familiar to her; she never liked it when he got down on himself.

"I find that hard to believe. I've seen your pre-serum pictures. You were just as cute, albeit in a head-too-big-for-your-body kind of way," she admitted, fiddling with the end of his tie. The picture of the small fellow, combed over hair falling into the same blue eyes that were scanning her now, floated through her memory. Physically, yes, he had changed. But inside, where it counted, she couldn't imagine he'd shifted from his core all that much. When he frowned, she shook her head and laid a palm against his cheek. "And I've known you for a while now. You're just...so good; you've got the best heart I've ever seen in a person, for one thing. I for one think you would've had a great chance."

Steve glanced down at his shoes. Her response was familiar to him. There was a small measure of comfort to be taken from her words.

"You're a little biased," he pointed out. She exhaled, patting her hair, careful of the remaining pins in it.

"Could be. But just because I love you doesn't mean I'm entirely wrong," she replied, crossing her arms. "It probably had as much to do with yourself as with the girls."

That struck a little deeper than was intended, but it wasn't as if he could refute it. It was true; he'd kept his distance to save himself heartache after years of rejection, to protect him. New territory, this was not; however, it wasn't the easiest to admit to.

"Maybe," he conceded, scratching his neck. "Still, even afterward, when I could dance, had my pick, I didn't want to. I wanted to wait, for the right partner."

As Holly stared up at him, he turned to her, cupping her jaw. He wanted her to understand. "It's that important, honestly."

"Well, I can respect honesty," she answered slowly, dark gaze analyzing him. Biting her lip for a second, she muttered, "I can't honestly be the first you've asked."

"No, you're not," Steve responded truthfully. The promised dance of long ago was present, a dream he never realized. At the time, he'd felt hopeless; he'd lost his best friend, his family. He thought he'd done the only thing he could do, and with that, he'd given up all that he'd had, including Peggy. She had been the first to know his promise and understand, the first he wanted to share it with. But she wasn't the only one. "But you're the first one I've followed through for. That I had to—"

"You didn't have to. You never have to..." she protested, shaking her head quickly. First his generous offer to her parents, and now this...if he felt beholden to her, she didn't want that. But that wasn't how he felt, at all, and part of her was aware of that. When he gathered her in his arms, it stopped her outpouring.

"You've done a lot for me, Holly. More than you know," he whispered, his tongue sticking on the unsaid. Instead he just held her a little tighter. _You saved me._

As she reciprocated, she rested her chin on his shoulder, blinking back on the wave of strong emotions that came over her.

"And you have changed everything for me," she breathed into his ear. "From the first day."

_You saved me, too_.

A long moment passed, melodies drifting by as they held one another. Eventually clearing her throat, Holly pulled back in his arms, facing him fully again. Discreetly, she wiped at the corners of her eyes, excess eyeliner coming away, with perhaps a tear or two with it. She walked backwards, out into the open space, her hands on Steve's elbows to bring him along.

With a tired smile, she said, "One more dance, Nerfherder."

Returning her expression, he agreed, "Whatever you say, Princess."

Once they finished that dance, she withdrew to the bathroom, and Steve, tired and a little overheated, unbuttoned his vest, loosened his tie. He would be glad to finally get his suit off. It was getting late, or early, depending on the perspective. Idly, he wondered how Holly was faring in her dress and stockings, given how infrequently she dressed like that. Stockings, that had been a nice touch...he liked that.

"You know, I think we forgot something." Holly had returned, jewelry removed now, as well as the hair pins. Shaking out her hair a little, she sauntered up to him slowly, feet padding gingerly across the floor. The sly lilt to her voice arrested his attention, pulling him out of his reverie and back to her.

"What?" he asked, brow furrowing at the thought. What could he have forgotten?

She lifted a shoulder, smirk growing. "Oh, just a New Year's kiss at midnight."

Ah, so they did. Well, he wasn't about to turn that down. The corner of his mouth turned up, and he let her come to him, accepting the press of her lips against his. The soft touch was something he'd craved, couldn't get enough of. Eyes closed, he let himself go, lost in the feel of her mouth and the waves of her hair as his fingers slid into it. It became less innocent, more fervent, his tongue sweeping over hers and tasting the hints of champagne and whiskey she'd imbibed before. Hands roamed freely down her back, her sides, grip lost in the folds of her dark green dress. As her mouth lifted off of his, brushing kisses along his jaw, more heat poured through him, pooling lower than his stomach. The ache of wanting was acute, amplified as their mouths reconnected, the muffled thump of his jacket and vest hitting the floor barely registering.

Hardly conscious of it, Steve backed her up to the wall, bodies pressing fully against one another. Deftly, she shifted, a leg gliding along his to hook around his waist. Without hesitation, he dragged the other up as well, forcing her to cling to him even tighter for a moment until her legs were secure around him. Following her earlier example, he left a hot trail down her throat, the hitch deep within almost echoing in his ears as he did so. Fingers raked through his hair as he nipped at the join of her neck, pulled down the capped sleeve on her shoulder to press his mouth there. One hand worked along her thigh, the skirt inching back as he indulged in the expanse of the nylon on her skin.

Rapidly his tie was tossed, the tugging on his belt exciting him as her hand slipped down between them. When her skin swept along his on the inside of the waistband, he shivered, a quiet moan bubbling in his throat. He ground into her, making her groan again. More, more...she tugged on his shirt, let her legs drop, her mouth pulling away. Pushing lightly on his chest, she made Steve back up enough so that she could see his face.

The hunger in his eyes, there was no mistaking that. She'd seen it build over the course of time, knew how he felt, because she felt it, too. The culmination of everything had seized her: drinks, dancing, and a wonderful man by her side who wanted her, needed her. She had to take a second to get a hold of herself. Holly knew what she wanted. She had to make sure he wanted it, too.

"Steve, are you sure?" she gasped, catching her breath. Her fingers were still working at the buttons of his shirt, though she had slowed significantly. Holly didn't want to push him, but she couldn't deny how much she was literally shaking with desire. If he wanted to stop now, it would be difficult, but she could do it. It would be his first time, and he would be putting more trust in her to go through it with him.

Before, there would be a stopping point, or an incident, or a thought, to keep them both from going too far. It was too soon, not the right time, someone interrupted, all those things. But here, now, alone with the darkness with her, Steve couldn't keep it to himself. He loved her, he wanted her. And it was the same with her. Years gone, lost, chances left behind. But it was different now, and he had another chance. Not taking it could be a regret the next day. There were enough regrets in his life. There was no way they were just going to walk away from it. He wanted her, wanted this with her.

"Yes," he told her. He stood stock still, energy coiled as if he were about to leap into the fray. Snaking a hand through her hair again, he stared into her dark gaze. One word and he'd stop, but if they took the proposed course..."You?"

She took a moment, swallowed, and gave her word. "Yes."

Time snapped, the pulsating need reaching a fever pitch as they came together again. Fast and hot, he scooped her up, her arms locked tightly around his shoulders as he carried her to the bedroom. In their haste, his hand slipped on the doorknob several times, too distracted by the graze of her teeth as she sucked on his lip. Eventually she broke off, reaching out and swatting his hand away, insisting she do it instead. Violently she cranked the handle, the portal swinging wide before they could tumble inside. The slam of the door rattled it in its frame, but neither of them cared. The music on the stereo, forgotten now, played on.

**xXxXxXx**

Sunlight filtered in as the shades automatically began to rise, wakening Holly by degrees. At least JARVIS wasn't giving the weather report as a form of alarm that morning, she thought, as he had the day before. Yawning, she blinked against the light, lifting her head and feeling a kink in her neck. Propping herself up on one elbow, she shivered against a sudden chill. The sheet was twisted around her hips, leaving her naked from the waist up. Glancing down, she noticed that a forearm had acted as a pillow. Shifting from facing the windowed wall to the other side, her tired eyes lit up, and she grinned. Steve was still asleep, sprawled on his back and mouth open slightly. Where she was caught up in the sheet, he had taken possession of the comforter, with it tucked around his waist and legs, leaving him bare otherwise. His expression was peaceful, calm, and deep in dreams. It was nice to see him that way, considering his past messed with his sleep on and off. Looking at him, she could swear that satisfaction was exuded from his form.

Perhaps it was just her own, reflecting on him. She rolled her eyes at herself; it was far too early to act poetic about it. Shrugging, she turned over again, snatching her phone off the bedside table (shifting her stocking off of it first to do so) to look at the time. Unhooking it from the charger, she swiped the display and noted it was a little past nine o'clock. Blinking and yawning once more, Holly got out of the bed, caffeine being her mission.

Taking a look at the clothing strewn around the room, she made her selection before padding out to the kitchen, a cheeky spring in her step. Buttoning Steve's shirt after sliding on her underwear (one at the foot of the bed, the other hanging off the dresser along the far wall), she rolled back the sleeves and set a course for the coffee maker, combing back her hair as best she could with her fingers. After measuring the grounds and assembling the rest to get a pot brewing, she resolved to clean up a little in the meantime. The quarters were quiet, the music having run out hours ago. The programmed lights had been shut off by JARVIS. Taking a detour into the living room, she changed over the satellite radio to a 90's station, volume low and beat pulsing as she shuffled along shifting furniture around. Shoving and shifting was her primary method, and things were relatively close to their original positions after a while. Her bags finally made it out of the hall into the living room, settled on the couch, joined by Steve's abandoned jacket, tie, and vest. Lastly, the champagne glass by the far wall was retrieved, taken into the kitchen just in time for the coffee pot to be filled and waiting on her.

Assembling her drink quickly, Holly sipped at it as she scrounged through the cupboards to find something to eat. Frowning, she shook her head at one thing or another before settling on an apple from the fruit basket nearby. Mug in one hand and apple in the other, she went back to the bedroom, maneuvering around the clothing still on the floor and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Putting down the cup and food on the nightstand, she leaned over Steve, laying a hand his chest and kissing his cheek. He stirred, his hand coming up to cover hers, but he otherwise was not roused.

"Steve, it's morning. Hey now, come on," she said, wiggling her fingers in an attempt to free them. His grip did not slacken, but she caught the quirk at the corner of his mouth. Cheeky bugger. She raised her eyebrows, glancing at the air and thinking. "Not getting up, huh? Hey, JARVIS."

"Yes, ma'am?" the smooth voice clipped the air, privacy protocols lifted now.

"Play Reveille. At full volume." She freed her hand then, placing both over her ears in preparation. Immediately Steve waved at the air, shaking his head and opening his eyes.

"No, no. I'm up, I'm up!" Blinking sleepily, he took one look at her attire and snorted. Tipping his head back on the pillow, he muttered, "Thief."

Holly lifted a shoulder, a small grin on her lips as she reached out for her coffee again. "I prefer the term 'borrower.'"

"Just like you 'borrowed' that one t-shirt of mine to sleep in and never gave it back?" he asked, sitting up now. After she took a sip, she held it out to him in question. He took it, taking a swig and wincing at the sweetness. Too much creamer and sugar for his tastes, but it was coffee, at least.

"Hey, you said you didn't like it, anyway," she said, combing through his sleep-tousled hair affectionately.

"No, I said I didn't wear it all that much," he pointed out, handing back the mug. Tweaking the collar off her neck, he continued, "Doesn't mean you need to snatch my clothes away."

"Would you rather I take this off, then?" she asked, slowly reaching up and popping the first button. She watched as his pupils dilated, as he leaned forward. A flush of heat spread through her as he pulled her close, the memories of the previous evening surfacing and filling her.

"I wouldn't say no." He bussed her lips, deepening it after a few moments. However, a low, growling sound interrupted them. Hunger would no longer be deterred, and so Holly drew back, munching on her apple and drinking her coffee while Steve got up to get something for himself. She followed him out into the kitchen, him clad in his undershirt and boxer briefs, chatting back and forth as he fixed his own coffee and breakfast. Popping up onto the counter next to him while he worked at some eggs in the pan, she just looked at him. His expression now was quite different: thoughtful, his brow furrowed. His gaze skittered from the pan to her and back again, as if he wasn't sure of what was going on. He had taken a big chance last night, and he hadn't brought it up, wasn't talking about it. Change and change again, as was often the theme in her life now and things had shifted. It was up to her to say something.

"You know, for being your first...dance," she murmured, setting her coffee aside, "it wasn't that bad."

"I don't know about that," he replied, a sheepish smile gracing his face briefly before the stoicism set in again. Dropping his eyes to the food, he moved the spatula superfluously. "I made a few mistakes."

It was true; he had fumbled, was awkward and unsure, but with his lack of experience how he could be otherwise? She had to lead, guide him, and while the initial steps were rough, the final execution was not.

"Nobody's perfect, but it gets better with practice," she pointed out. Taking a deep breath, she raised her mug to her lips, pausing long enough to say, "It was better the second time."

His head jerked up then, his eyes going wide. She just smiled, raising her eyebrows in a playful manner and downing the last slug of coffee.

"Are you...did you just..." he stammered, a little taken aback. She held up a hand, stemming his speech.

"I'm just saying, I have hopes for our future, um, dances."

"You do." It wasn't a question, but Holly still felt compelled to answer it.

"Yeah." She eyed him curiously, a snake of doubt slithering through her suddenly. Maybe she had read the situation wrong. "Don't you?"

For answer, Steve took the pan off the burner, setting the spatula aside. Thinking he was going to ignore her query altogether, she was surprised by curling an arm around her waist, resting his head against hers briefly. He nodded, and when he moved away she caught him hiding the smile that stretched across his lips. Once he made up a plate, he held out his palm to her, walking hand in hand to the living room, the radio still playing. Settling on the couch, they neglected to turn on the television, intent more on each other's company than anything else.

"Out of curiosity," Holly asked after a while, hesitant to bring up the subject yet again, "was...everything...that happened, part of the plan?"

Steve chewed his eggs, swallowed, and looked at her directly. "Honestly, no, it wasn't. But it has occurred to me that I love a great gal, and if we wanted to...then I should be able to do right by you and by myself. And protecting you is a high priority for me, so I...picked some up, before last night."

Holly trusted him to tell her the truth, and even though she knew him better than that, she was a little relieved that what they did wasn't a contrivance from months ago.

"Well, then, I'm glad you found the time." She mulled it over, wondering when he did make such a trip.

"One thing I am grateful in regards to being in this modern world: twenty-four hour pharmacies."

She snickered. "It's called Walgreens, dear."

He gestured at her with his fork. "Still has a pharmacy."

"Did you get a nice sody-pop from the drug store too, Stevie?"

"You mock what you don't understand, missy."

Later, when he finished eating and she was settled against him, he sighed almost imperceptibly as he traced patterns along her bare forearm.

"Don't want you to go yet." It was a familiar thought, but it was sharper that morning, cutting a little harder at his heart. She shifted, her own arms going around his waist and squeezing.

"Me neither," she breathed, giving the underside of his jaw a peck. "But I work, too. Carl will have kittens if I'm not there tomorrow morning."

Sitting up, she cast a cursory glance at the clock on the wall.

"I'm here now, though. And I still have at maximum...seven-ish more hours before I have to get my butt across state lines. We just have to make the most of it."

He nodded, a sly, lusty lilt in his expression. She rather liked seeing it. "We sure can."

"Starting with a shower," she pronounced, getting up and looking at Steve expectantly. When his brow furrowed again, she gave him her own saucy grin and held out her hand. "Which you're welcome to join me for."

Later on, Steve was able to reflect on her words. Holly was right to have hopes for the third "dance." It was better than the last one.

**xXxXxXx**

"It's too bad you can't stay longer," Steve remarked to Sam as he escorted him down the underground garage. It was time for Holly and him to head back to D.C., both due for work the next morning.

"I know, dude. This place is like a playground. You know, except it's for adults. And some of the adults could kill you in the blink of an eye," he said, thinking back on his day. After the party guests had dispersed, he could not find his erstwhile friend anywhere, nor the fellow's girlfriend. Assuming they'd already gone to bed, he stumbled into his own bed, exhausted at 2 AM. When Steve and Holly did not emerge from his quarters that morning, Sam had found some time to test out the adjustments Tony had made to his flight pack. He'd wandered the Tower for hours after that, marveling at the behind-closed-doors wonders he was allowed to have access to.

Steve chuckled, "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"So long as I don't beat Natasha at pool again, probably not," he replied wryly, recalling the promise of retribution she had made when he went back upstairs and challenged her to a game. The ice in her eyes made him sure she would follow through, given the chance. Arriving in the garage, the two stepped off the elevator they'd taken, the car already pulled up and running. Holly, however, was nowhere to be seen; she'd forgotten a couple of things upstairs, and had gone back to retrieve them.

Extending his hand, Steve smiled warmly as Sam shook it. "Good seeing you, man."

"You too. The little I did see you," his friend commented, shooting him a joking look. "Holly must have worn you out, with your little party of two going on."

Normally, if Sam made an insinuation of the kind regarding Holly and Steve's relationship endeavors, Steve would brush it off, ignoring it on his good days with a stern look, or blushing and changing the subject on his bad ones. This time, there was no mortification, no embarrassment to be had. His blue gaze was steady, a mischievous spark in it as he smirked and said nothing. Sam stared for a second or two.

"Wait..."

"You guys better get going, traffic is going to be awful," Steve said, inclining his head towards the door, the smirk growing wider. Deflection, he should've known. Sam opened his mouth to ask more.

"Thanks for pointing out that unfortunate fact, dear," Holly said, appearing as Steve's side with a toiletry bag in hand. Effectively cut off, Sam moved away, placed his pack and bags in the backseat while Steve drew Holly around the corner for a more private good-bye. Waiting patiently in the passenger seat, Sam laughed inwardly when they'd emerged, Holly's hair and clothes more rumpled than they were earlier, and Steve wiping discreetly at his mouth and fixing his shirt. Sharing one more chaste kiss farewell, Holly jumped into the driver's seat, both she and her car companion waving at Steve before taking off into the Manhattan streets. Holly could sense the intensity of whatever was on Sam's mind hovering in the air between them as she drove on.

"What?" she asked, just wanting to get whatever it was out in the open. Sam shrugged, looking out the windshield.

"Nothing," he responded. Silence settled in for a few moments. "You know it's pretty much written all over your face, right?"

"There's nothing on my face," she denied quickly, unable to stop the twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Well, except for foundation."

"Looks like some blush, too," he remarked, the flush deepening upon pointing that out. Confirmation in his mind, he leaned back in his seat, absorbing the gathered data and processing it. Shaking his head, he noted that Stark had gotten a little too far into his head for such a short trip. He exhaled slowly, grinning a little. "So not a bad New Year's, huh?"

Holly took her eyes off the road for a second, flashing him a wide smile before negotiating a turn.

"Not bad at all."

* * *

**A/N:** Another long chapter for you all. As so many famous actors in films have said: "FINALLY!" :-P

And I know some people will have a bone to pick with me regarding Steve and premarital sex. My personal interpretation of him regarding sex has always been the same as his view on dancing: waiting to do it with "the right partner" (someone he's in love with). Doesn't necessarily mean marriage has to happen first (I mean, look at his canonical relationship with Sharon Carter) but that's not totally off the table. Ahem...pardon my hint...Anyway, this is just my interpretation of his character, one that you don't have to agree with. For those of you who were looking for graphic sex…um, well…not happening. I've already pushed the T rating with this; I'd like to keep it in that range.

I don't own the MCU, Walgreens, or other copyrighted stuff I may have mentioned.

Okay, I know I mentioned this in the previous chapter, but I just want to reiterate the warning: we are coming up on the end of _At Day's End_, very soon. However, there is a sequel in the works, of which I will have more details soon! Any questions, etc., feel free to PM me!

Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you for the next one!

**EDIT, 4/27/16: **In case anyone is truly curious and desperate to know how things went down after dancing and before the next morning…I have posted to my A03 account (same username as here: PhantomProducer). It is entitled _Missing in Action_. Go, enjoy the sexy goodness of it (if you're of age and proper maturity to do so).


	45. Chapter 45

The day of January 19th, or more precisely, the early hours of January 19th, were unremarked by the majority of the D.C. neighborhoods. However, one person in the small minority awake during those hours was tapping away, fingers flying over the keyboard as they had for most of the day before. The darkness had rolled in, settled, but apart from a long phone call and a few texts, there was no breaking that calm quiet that had enveloped her. Holly was concentrating hard, staring at the open document intensely as she worked. As the seconds ticked by, eventually her fingers slowed, paused, and she let out a long breath. Frozen at the board, she used the track pad on her laptop to save the document, all the while she kept her gaze locked on the screen. Slowly, carefully, she removed her hands and let her face relax. Disbelief flitted over her features, and turned into a hesitant happiness.

"It's done," she breathed, leaning back in her seat. Raking her hand through her hair, she absently noted it was getting to be time for another haircut as she felt the delicious slide of joy travel through her. The better half of three years, writing and rewriting, so much editing and rearranging, all of that spent on her story, and now, now her manuscript was done (not a romance, as she had joked to Tony Stark, but more of a suspenseful adventure story).

"I take it your novel has reached completion, ma'am?" JARVIS asked pleasantly, penetrating her cocoon. She nodded, feeling the tears gather in her eyes but not letting them fall.

"Yes," Holly exhaled, a giant grin spreading across her lips. "Holy crap, yes."

"Congratulations, ma'am," the AI responded. "And as it well past midnight, happy birthday as well, ma'am."

Slightly startled, she glanced at the computer clock, noting the date underneath it. Had it really transitioned to her birthday already? Damn. For a moment, she tipped her head back, closing her eyes in tired relief.

"Thank you, JARVIS." Twenty-seven years old, and the first draft of her first book was finished. The click of her heating coming on echoed through the apartment, and her gaze drifted unconsciously towards her bedroom, wishing that the one person she really wanted to share the news with was there. Sighing, she gathered up her phone, tapping out a quick text message that she knew would not be answered for a while.

"You're welcome. Shall I locate the publishing house addresses and phone numbers for Mr. Johnson and Mr. Bielke?"

Yes, yes, the publishers, the ones she'd met at the New Year's party, she had to get in touch with them, let them know she would contributing something much sooner than she had anticipated.

"Yeah, yeah..." Her mind began to race, and she sat up, phone abandoned and her hands on the keyboard again. "Send those to my email, I've gotta get a cover letter going, and write up a summary. And find folders."

Then she'd need envelopes for her printed-off first chapters, and she'd have to get to the post office...where was her copy of _Writer's Market_? She needed to look up literary agents, too. Her mind raced again at the possibilities this event could provide. The first year and a half she'd spent working on her book, she had stalled, lost her inspiration, just settled into her life and would pick away at it once in a while. But over the last nine and a half months, she'd found the joy in writing again, found her way out of writer's block and back with her characters, more invigorated than before. She'd worked hard, and had done so gladly. Her life had given her novel life again, and she was so pleased with that. Two things to celebrate today, she thought, sniffing and pressing her palms over her eyes, her exhausted grin not wavering.

Holly just hoped Steve would get her message and celebrate with her, even if he had to do so from far away.

**xXxXxXx**

After getting a few hours of sleep, her letter printed and the copies of the first chapter along with the summary churning out while she rested, Holly packaged everything up and headed out to the post office, the cold biting into her as she jogged to and from her vehicle. Her mind churned up a lame joke at her birthday falling during winter, stirring her discontent, but she rolled her eyes to herself and just shrugged harder into her wool coat. The day had dawned bright, and freezing, and she took a bracing breath in, marking the beginning of her twenty-seventh year of life. As she drove, she mentally ran down her day's itinerary in her head. No work, as she had requested the day off, run to the post office, scheduled hair appointment, lunch out with Sarah (who insisted on celebrating again, even after they had pre-birthday drinks on the previous Saturday), and calling Steve around mid-afternoon before movies and delivery for the evening. Simple, easy, she was good with the plan. Pulling her wool cap down and keeping her sunglasses on, she bustled into the post office, excitement heating her cheeks as much as the flush of going back into the heat. Everything was weighed, measured and mailed in record time, and she had turned to leave, unhindered by anyone else. In the entryway, she paused and shot off emails to the publishers to cover her bases when a tapping on her shoulder surprised her. Jumping a little at the contact, she instinctively backed up a pace or two, examining the person who touched her.

It was an older man, bundled in a long black overcoat and black trousers, his hands returned to his sides and burying themselves in his pockets as his pale face began to tint pink. A tartan scarf was tucked around his neck He was a little taller than her, his thinning brown hair not covered by a cap and his eyes were shaded by dark aviator sunglasses. The sunlight through the glass door burst through some clouds, casting an unearthly glow around him for a moment or two.

"Miss Martin," he greeted her, dipping his chin once. Pushing her own sunglasses up onto her head, she squinted at him while her eyes adjusted.

"Can I help you?" she asked warily, hovering as close to the door as she dared. In the vestibule of the post office, she was in the line of the security camera, but she had a straight shot out if had to run. She didn't like being suspicious of people, but in the past few months, she had grown weary of the ones looking for secrets, looking for insight into Captain America's private life and her own doings. And not only them; she'd been taunted and had epithets thrown her way as well (some from jealous women, some from impotent men, but mostly on the Internet message boards). Consequentially, anyone who approached her in public made her put her on guard, no matter their intentions. This fellow, his appearance out of the blue, struck a chord with her.

"Miss, I need you to come with me," he murmured, the calm measure of his voice unconsciously easing something within her. Still, she didn't let her guard down. Maybe it really was time to look into getting a bodyguard, as much as the idea put her off.

"Why?" she wondered, phone gripped tight in her hand, the other dropping into her pocket and curling around the can of pepper spray on her keyring. Going right for the Taser in her purse would not be the right move at that moment. The man gestured to the door, making sure not to touch her again or alarm her in any way.

"It's a matter of minor urgency. My...colleague wants to speak to you, in regards to your recent affiliations."

"Okay..." Holly's brow furrowed, and the fellow sighed. This wasn't going easily at all, and people in the post office were beginning to stare at them.

"I don't mean you any harm," he said, attempting to keep his tone low and even. Taking a half step towards her, he saw her take a half step back out of instinct.

"Why should I believe you?"

"Because if those were my intentions, it would have happened already," he told her bluntly. She blinked, taken aback by his candor. In her experience, mysterious types who approached her out of nowhere usually reined in the honesty. "I'm with SHIELD."

Holly's expression hardened, her head shaking automatically. "SHIELD doesn't exist anymore."

"Good, that's exactly what the world needs to think," the man said, taking off his sunglasses and revealing his sardonic brown eyes. Before she could stammer a denial, a reproach, or otherwise verbalize her disbelief, he cut her off. "I promise, it won't take long."

There was a long moment where their gazes were locked, light and dark brown eyes staring one another down. If he were polite only to destroy her later, he was playing a long con, one that wasn't paying off as quickly as it should have. Something in Holly's gut told her that this man wasn't here to hurt her. Carefully, she inclined her head. The guy pushed open the door, ushering her out without another word. Taking slow steps, Holly swiped through her apps on her phone, trying to be discreet, subtly alerting Steve and Sarah about stepping out of the post office and heading across town, should they need to get in touch with her.

"Whenever you're done texting your friends of your whereabouts, we'll go," the mystery man called out, causing her to jerk her head up and her eyes to go wide. How did he...

"You're good," she commented quietly, hitting the send button and walking behind him. The corner of his mouth barely lifted, but she got the sense that he was amused. As he pushed his sunglasses back on, he lifted a shoulder.

"I've learned from the best." Leading the way, he brought her to a nondescript black sedan with tinted windows. He'd gotten a few feet ahead of her, and she had to jog to catch up. The dog tags, thrown on after she'd put on her coat earlier, bounced around as she moved, the sun glinting off them and grabbing the guy's attention. Opening the passenger door for her, he waited until Holly had buckled in, nodding to the chain.

"Nice tags," he complimented her. Taking a closer look, his eyes went slightly wide behind the sunglasses. "Are they the captain's originals?"

Covering the tags with her hand, she nodded, a little uncomfortable. "Yes."

Saying no more, the fellow got into the driver's side, pulling seamlessly into traffic. The drive took them twenty minutes out to the edge of the city. They parked in front of a tan office building with a "for rent" sign plastered up in the ground floor window. Getting out and following him up to the locked door, Holly watched as the key lock panel slid back, revealing a scanner. The guy pressed his thumb to it, and another panel in the door clicked open. Bending towards it, he closed one eye while a scanner projected over the other. Clearance accessed, the locks unbolted and the door swung in, the glass tinting as they padded indoors. Being taken through a twisting maze of hallways, she tried to keep track of where she was going, but eventually she was guided up a back staircase and deposited into the first room to the left of the landing. At that point, the mystery man shut the door behind her and disappeared, leaving her alone.

The window was shaded, the overhead lights and the heating turned on (so they found a way to either pay the bill or break into the utilities without the power company knowing). The walls were devoid of any paraphernalia, the furniture consisting of a desk and two chairs taking up the majority of the space. However, what looked like one of Tony Stark's high definition wall displays had its projection frame bordering the back wall. Taking a seat in a chair, she glanced at the desk sitting in front of her, bare save for a single file folder bearing her last name and first initial. Curiosity sparked through her, but she attempted to keep it quelled as she took off her hat and coat, dropped her purse on the floor, swiped through her phone, took stock of the digital display that was blank. Slowly, after checking over her shoulder and hearing no movement in the hall, she scooted her chair forward, getting close enough to lean her elbows on the flat surface. Crossing her arms, she kept her eye on the folder, fingers tapping against her sweatered arms for a second or two. Uncrossing her arms, she brought her hands up to rest her chin in them, counting down time until it felt safe to drop them back onto the desk, the folder within reach.

"If you're gonna make a move, it's too late now."

Automatically Holly jerked her hands back, putting them in her lap as she looked over her shoulder at the new arrival. Another older man, African American with his head shaved and an eye patch secured over the left eye, watched her shrewdly. In keep with the black motif of his associate as far clothing went, he looked less like an accountant and more like an authority figure. Recognizing him from the media pictures as well as from Steve's personal verifications, her jaw dropped. After all, Nick Fury was supposed to be dead.

As he went around to the other side of the desk, Holly managed to find her tongue again, stammering, "I-I was just...resting my hands on the desk."

He smirked at her. "At first. I'm Nick Fury."

Nodding, she stifled her first response, instead extending her hand out. "Holly Martin."

"I know," he said, unknowingly throwing her unspoken response at her. Shaking her hand, he shifted in his chair, back ramrod straight and gaze formidable.

Swallowing (and still trying to process that she was speaking to yet another man from Steve's life who wasn't as deceased as everyone thought; seriously, did no one ever die now?), she wondered, "How much do you know?"

He tapped a finger on the file folder, smirk turning wry. "A lot more than you'd think."

"I suppose so," she responded, unable to stem the remark before it came out. "You used to be the director of a spy organization."

"It was more complicated than that."

"Sorry," she returned, shrugging her shoulders sheepishly. "I'm an average civilian; that explanation works best for me."

Glancing away, she missed the significant look Fury had cast at her. Gathering up the folder, he opened it with a practiced air, thumbing through the sheaf of papers therein.

"This is a compiled assessment of you. Due to your involvement with a particular captain, romantic and otherwise, it appears that 'average' is not the best describer for you lately," he said, flipping pages over and settling them on the desk as he went through it all. Reading upside, she could see her school records, bank records, and other reports with her name on them. If she could have, she would've sunk straight into the floor. "In the last nine months you've been pretty busy: found and rescued a federal operative/national hero, assisted in the manhunt for a rogue assassin—"

Holly coughed, "Uh, not to split hairs, but I didn't do much other than house-sit and drive to and from the airport during that."

"And in turn apprehended said assassin for a short time. Just over two hours, but nobody's perfect."

"Steve really was the one who..." she trailed off. That particular information regarding Bucky was not even in any private database; Steve didn't want that out for anyone to find. Nick Fury found out, though. "Wait, how did...?"

He didn't even let her words register, and kept talking. "Let's see, what else? Rushed through carrying permits for a handgun and a Taser despite living in the D.C. metropolitan area, even if you only employ one of those. Integrated yourself into a covert mission without authorization...well, to be fair, none of the parties had authorization to do so, but if the government and all world councils were willing to let it slide, then I can't say anything about it. And you've also continued contact with members of the foremost specialized task force in the world, and granted access to private bases for those members. This doesn't even touch the social media speculation and fire."

_'Geez, you know when I'm sleeping and when I'm awake, too?' _Holly listened to the speech, her actions over the last months laid out before her, and for some reason, she couldn't quite take it in. There was an implication in Fury's words, she could hear it in his tone, but what it was eluded her. And she didn't know if she was there to answer for her actions, or to explain, or what have you. None of those things were anything she set out to do. They just...happened, and she'd acted one way or another.

Her brow was furrowed, her mouth pulled down in a frown. "I do not understand what this is about, or why I'm here."

Fury shrugged, faux affability in his form. "Observing from afar doesn't quite cut it, and I doubt you would accept a call from a ghost on the telephone."

Holly snorted. "You'd be surprised. I'd think you would have built quite a profile without ever needing to meet me."

Fury leaned forward, the air around him seemingly going colder, his expression sobering.

"I don't work that way, not in cases like keeping long-term tabs on a civilian. I have been keeping track of you, Miss Martin. Note that I said_ I_, not_ we,_" Nick responded, stressing the words. "As far as the outer world is concerned, you've managed to break into the world of the Avengers, but you're definitely not as significant as they are, so there's no point in looking below the surface."

"And you don't subscribe to that theory?"

He smirked again, the mirth sparse in the expression. "I'm not the outer world; according to them, I'm dead. No, when a stranger comes on the radar as far as this team is concerned, I pay attention. I watch out for my own."

"And they help you out with that. Or at least Natasha does," Holy amended, recalling her first encounters with the ex-agent. Although, to be fair, there were others at the Tower with ties to this man, and at least one of them would have the same mind set as Nat.

"She's a free agent now, though she does pass things along if I ask her to," he pointed out, bringing her back to the present.

_'Thus being indirectly told I was being watched back in June,' _Holly thought. Aloud, she murmured, choosing her words with care, "If you've brought me here to threaten me that might not work out, considering...everything. And if you're going to warn me off the danger, I've been aware of that for a while, too. What do you get out of this?"

"To know if you're an ally. Because when things really hit the fan—and trust me, they will—I want to make sure that the people whom the world count on, can count on the people around them," Fury enunciated, jabbing a finger downward on the pile of papers in front of him. "If they can...if he can, then there are possibilities."

"Awfully altruistic of you," she replied, immediately wincing at her flyby comment. Deciding to ignore her own words, she continued, "Possibilities for what?"

"Oh, you know. They could be endless." Fury cracked a smile then, and Holly could barely manage a grim one.

"Limit them for my sake, then."

He let silence settle briefly before answering, "I'm covering bases, getting all hands on deck when I'll, and more importantly the Avengers, need them."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Are you...recruiting me?"

Right away, the ex-director shook his head, denying the idea altogether. "I wouldn't call it that; you're not exactly agent material, kid. But you are useful. And loyal. If the world turns on its head like it did three years ago, your allegiance to Rogers will count for more than you think."

"You think," she retorted, not at all confident in that profession.

"I know. Other people knew, too," he shot back, selecting a page from the middle of the stack and sliding them over to her. Waiting until she had picked them up, he pressed on. "That was obtained from the Project: Insight files. I'm not sure if the captain explained this, but those helicarriers were designed to employ a program that would hack into the private and public records of every person on the planet to determine threats."

Thinking hard, she dipped her chin in recollection. "He mentioned that to me, awhile back; Steve said that he was told that they could examine a person's past to predict their future actions."

"Killing anyone HYDRA deemed a problem, or a potential problem down the road, without lifting a finger," Nick explained further, crossing his arms. She froze then, her gaze fixated on the paper before her.

"Are...are you implying...?"

"Fourth from the bottom," Fury said, laying his hands flat on the desk and pushing out of the chair. Coming around to the front, he rested against the front edge, watching her widening eyes stare at the paper in her fingers. "Recovered from the salvaged targeting blades after the crashes, as hard a job as that was. It was quite a ways down the list in regards to who would be scratched off first, but there it is: your name, your address, your stats."

After a few moments, her voice came out as a whisper. "Does he know? Does Steve know about this?"

She knew there were things that Steve couldn't tell her about. And she could accept that, to a point. If he had known about this, and never told her...

"That HYDRA certainly thought you were capable of doing more than the typical nine to five and suffering writer's block?" Fury shook his head. "No, he doesn't."

She mimicked his movement, raking a hand through her hair. Looking at it again (and possibly catching Sarah's name further up the list than hers), she breathed, "This is...bizarre. Very hard to believe."

"I've seen some hard-to-believe things. This is a three on the scale, maybe," the ex-director contradicted her, without venom. "So I'm asking you: can you be counted on to step up when you're needed?"

Locking eyes, Holly couldn't force herself to back down from the posed question. Being with Steve wasn't all sunshine and roses, but the worst they'd ever faced together was her running interference the one time and the odd tiff or two. But this was not a new question that Fury had asked; it was something she had thought about long and hard before they'd gotten involved. It was something she still thought about from time to time. In her heart, the answer was always the same. Her chin dipped once, and that was enough. Nick Fury would have to take it, or leave it if he so chose. His eyes flicked from her to the page in her hand, and when he took it from her he said nothing more.

A question pushed from the forefront of her mind to her tongue then. "And your personal assessment? Does it go with the profile?"

Inhaling deeply, he glanced up at the ceiling and pondered his reply for the scantest of moments. "I'll reserve my full judgment for now, but I will tell you this: who you were ten months ago is different from the person sitting in front of me. On paper and in reality."

"And I'll have changed some more in another ten months," she retorted, lifting an open palm to the air. "Only constant in life is change."

"That, and taxes," Fury said, a corner of his mouth lifting as she chuckled at the truth in his words. Pulling a card from his pocket, he slid it across the desk to her. It was blank save for a single telephone number printed on the front. "This is a secure number. Put it in your phone. If and when the worst comes, we'll need to get in touch with you."

She exhaled sharply. "Your worst and my worst might differ a little."

"Not by much, I promise you."

"Okay, Mr. Fury." She stopped then, looking as though a sour taste entered her mouth. "Sorry, for some reason that doesn't sound quite right."

"Damn right, it doesn't. But for the moment, it's the only title I can claim," he admitted in good humor. "Well, that and colonel."

"Yes, sir." She gave him a mock salute before thoughtfulness took over. "Can Steve know? About this meeting, I mean. I'm not a terribly good liar."

"You two share common ground, then. You're not under my command, do what you like. However, don't use my name," he instructed. "If people overhear you, they might have some questions how you were able to converse with a dead man."

Holly nodded once more, rising from her chair at the unspoken cue to leave in his tone. "Fair point. Good-bye, sir."

As she pivoted, laid her hand on the door knob, she was preempted by Fury's voice one last time.

"Oh, one more thing. Happy birthday."

His face had gone stony, but that didn't deter the sentiment of the well-wishing. Relaxing a little, Holly gave him a watery grin.

"Thank you."

On that note, she exited the room, resting her back against the shut door behind her and blowing out a deep breath. The whole exchange had been surreal, but she couldn't remain in the hallway to dwell on it. The mystery gentleman from before had returned, wrapping his scarf around his neck as he approached and prompting her to assemble her outerwear as well. Back through the maze of stairs and corridors they went, to the car which bore a light dusting of snow in the parking lot. They did not speak for the majority of the ride, but as he pulled up before the post office again, the gentleman turned in his seat, offering his hand to shake.

"We'll be in touch."

"Okay, Agent...I assume you're an agent?" she queried, shaking his hand and giving him a quizzical expression. The corner of his mouth inclined a fraction.

"Director, actually. It's best that you not mention me at all if you do speak of this to the captain," he told her, adjusting the sunglasses on his face. "SHIELD isn't supposed to exist anymore, and therefore I don't, either."

"Must be exhausting, all this nonexistence and hiding in the shadows," she tried to kid, but all she got in response was a hardened face and a wistful tone in his voice when he spoke for her efforts.

"It wouldn't have worked out otherwise," he nearly whispered, looking out the windshield. She tilted her head to the side, curious about what that meant.

"What wouldn't have?"

"Good-bye, Miss Martin." The door locks clicked open, more dismissive than his words had been. "I'm sure we'll cross paths in the future. Good luck."

She nodded, at a loss for something to say for a moment. As she climbed out, she gestured to the car, thinking that would do.

"Nice car."

Now the fellow smirked, though it was a sad and bitter one. "It's not Lola, but it will do."

Not wishing to push further, Holly let the door shut and watched him speed back into traffic, disappearing in the flow swiftly. Scrubbing her hands over her face, she felt slight exhaustion seep in. With so much to think about, she trod back to her car, switching the radio on silent as she went to salvage the rest of her morning.

**xXxXxXx**

Returning from her planned escapades a little later than she'd expected, Holly parked herself in her living room, turning over a couple packages that had been airmailed from home. Ripping into them, she discovered a care package filled with treats from her parents. Her brother and niece's box was heavy, a pot made by Jodie (encased in bubble wrap) and a new book from Hank. Heather and Jake had shipped a joke t-shirt they'd mailed directly from their trip to Florida. Swiftly, she texted her thanks to all of them before being interrupted by an incoming call. Finally her phone chimed with the number she'd been waiting to see onscreen all afternoon. Burrowing into a corner of the couch, Holly slid her thumb across the screen to answer it, her grin growing.

"Hey, sweetheart."

"Hello, birthday girl," Steve responded, his baritone voice rising a little as he continued. "And congratulations, too. You've really finished it?"

Holly nodded to thin air, despite knowing he couldn't see it. "Yeah, the novel's done, for now. I put copies for the publisher in the mail and everything this morning. Four years, and I finally...oh, man..."

"I'm so proud of you." The admiration and pride in his tone were unmistakable, warming her heart. He knew all about how long she'd been working on the draft, preparing to put it out in the world. It made him happy to see her meet her goal, and she was grateful to have him be there for her when she did so. She didn't want to tell anybody else just yet, for fear of jinxing it, but she couldn't withhold from him. Soaking in it for a moment, pleased to have his support in her work, she forged ahead through the chit chat of the day for a minute or two, discussing the possibility of peaking the interest of at least one literary agent or publisher. Soon enough, she brought the conversation around to a particular point.

"Met an old friend of yours today."

She could practically see him raising an eyebrow skeptically. "Is that so?"

"Yep, survived the encounter," she noted, forcing a chuckle out to soften the truth. "Came out basically unscathed."

"Uh-huh. Does this old friend have a name?" he wondered.

"Um, yeah," she said, struggling to find an apt descriptor for him without being insulting. Thinking back, she blurted quickly, "It was...the colonel. The furious one."

It was a fair description, one that any eavesdropper (if they could have broken through JARVIS's barriers) wouldn't question. Nobody would wonder at Captain America having a friendly relationship with some random army colonel. She just hoped her giving the game away wasn't as ridiculous as it sounded. If she had to allude to him in another way, she didn't know what she could say. A short pause followed her words, and she waited. A sharp breath was blown over the receiver on his end, bouncing into her ear.

"I wasn't aware he was stateside again," Steve replied, words pitched low for a moment. "What did he want with you?"

"Wanted to meet me, make sure I was up for it," she summarized.

"Up for what?"

She shrugged to herself, smirking smartly. "Oh, just the insanity that comes with being part of your life."

Visualizing him rolling his eyes, she could still hear the bland thread of sarcasm in his tone when Steve responded, "Nice. That was all, though?"

"More or less; no explicit details came out, but he was concerned on what role I was willing to play," Holly confessed. Out of habit, she glanced over her shoulder, taking stock of her apartment as though she expected a spy to leap from the shadows just then. "Look, I just wanted you to be aware of it. This is something we really shouldn't talk about over the phone."

"Agreed. We'll go over it later," he said, the steeliness a promise that he would certainly follow through with that. Snorting, she closed her eyes and tipped her head back into the cushions behind her.

"I gotta say, there is never a want for conversation so long as your friends keep popping up," she pronounced, pinching the bridge of her nose and snickering.

"And your friends are innocent angels in comparison," Steve retorted, the tenor turning playful.

"Of course. None of my pals broke a borough by themselves."

"Which Bruce still feels bad about, by the way," he returned, light pity lacing the words. Remembering the doctor's somewhat embarrassed look when he'd told her about the events in Harlem, she pouted in sympathy on her end.

"I'm sure he does. Poor guy."

The conversation went from there, mostly maneuvering around the odd pockets of static and weak connection on Steve's end. He'd told her he was traveling, and inwardly she quaked, knowing that this could indicate a major mission being in play. Since New Year's, the Avengers had been doing some end runs around the shady people of the world. With HYDRA gone to ground, they concentrated on the bad guys they could get to; they'd just busted a major arms dealer the past week. She wished him luck with his travels, expressing concern for his safety, and he had responded lightly, a knowing tone in his voice that nagged at her. When the parting I-love-yous were said, she tossed the device away, pulling the blanket down from the back of the couch, huddling in it. She felt cold, afraid, the same as always when Steve went out to do his job. Eventually, with the weight of her day coming down on her, she fell into a fitful doze. Dreams were scattered, skittering away as quickly as they had approached, and she would remember none of them upon waking.

Pounding at the front door echoed through her haze, pulled her out of sleep. Blinking, she groaned under her breath and rolled onto her side.

"I don't know if I'm up for more surprise encounters today," she muttered sleepily. Wiping her face, she pulled her phone off the coffee table, tapping at an app. "JARVIS, pull up the door camera, please."

"Yes, ma'am," the AI acquiesced. Thank goodness for Tony Stark and his security measures, she thought. Otherwise I'd be so screwed now.

"Thanks," she said aloud. When the camera opened onscreen, she nearly did a double-take at the visitor. He was tall, his hair covered by a gray beanie, a small travel bag over one shoulder and a cloth grocery bag in the other swathed in plastic baggies and a wrapped parcel within. She sucked in a breath; no way...her doubt was erased and her good humor returned when the cheeky bugger glanced up into the pinhole camera, blue eyes bright and saluting it with two fingers with a twist of the lips. Jumping up and jogging down to the door, she whipped it open, immediately wrapping her arms around his shoulders and avoiding the shield strapped to his back as best she could. He dropped the grocery bag, strong arms tightening around her and his lips capturing hers.

Breaking off the kiss and drawing away, she swatted Steve's shoulder. "And here I thought you were traveling for work. Getting me all worried..."

His half grin came then, one hand coming up to cup her chin. "Sorry. The enemy couldn't be bothered to oblige today. And I couldn't miss my girl's day, anyway, could I?"

She tapped a finger against his coat, too happy to see him to be even remotely irritated. "You are an exemplary man, Steve Rogers. Even if you do neglect to use your spare key."

"If you say so, doll," he replied, giving her a peck on the cheek. Shifting back, his eyes scanned over her, settling on the change in her appearance. Her hair fell just below chin length now, a departure from the previous trims she'd gotten in the past. The style fell around her face, brought attention to the bare line of her neck and curve of her jaw. His fingers moved up, touching a few strands. "Your hair looks really great."

"A compliment right out the gate," she said, smiling. Noticing the abandoned grocery bag on the floor, she picked it up for him, inhaling deeply as the smell of takeout wafted around her. "And you brought food, too. You, sir, are my hero."

Steve snickered, falling in step with her as she led the way back into the apartment. "That easy, huh?"

She pointed at him, detouring towards the kitchen. "Don't act like my low standards are a surprise."

With him padding off to the bedroom, she began to remove plates from the cupboards. Humming to herself, she was more than pleased with this turn of events. Soon enough she heard his approach, felt him move into her space, his hands slipping around her waist and pulling her back against him. She reveled in the feel of his body along hers (sans winter gear), the pads of his fingers brushing over her stomach.

"You've got this hero for..." he paused, holding out his wrist to peer at the watch perched there, "about fourteen hours, barring any emergencies. Whatever you want, I'll do."

She didn't even hesitate with her next action. She shifted out of his grip, breaking the contact and leaving him there to trip down the front hall again. The sound of locks clicking into place greeted his ears, and he shot her a wry look as she came back into the kitchen and into his embrace.

"So, whatever I want..." she trailed off, biting her lip and thinking about it. The clever gleam in her eye intrigued him, kept his attention. Arriving at a decision, she smiled. "I want a dance, after dinner."

Bending his head, he pulled her closer to whisper in her ear, "Which kind?"

Her low chuckle made a tingle shoot down his spine, causing his grip to tighten a fraction.

"Every kind," she murmured back, mouth hovering over his again. Closing his eyes in anticipation of a kiss, he was a little taken aback when her lips merely brushed his when she spoke again. "You know how to do the Charleston?"

Grumbling, Steve drew back. "Oh, good lord."

Holly laughed then, going over to the counter and giving him a saucy grin. "Come on, let's dish up. We've got a few things to talk about before we get to that."

Plates filled and seats chosen on the couch, Holly flicked on the television. The DVD player kicked on as well, playing her choice for the evening. Steve, upon seeing the menu screen for _Star Wars: A New Hope_, grunted his approval through a mouth full of noodles; the best backdrop for the evening in this girl. Picking up where their conversation had left off, Holly found her hand had laced with his, his gentle grasp solid and unyielding. It had been like that even on that first day, when he unconsciously reached out for someone, and she obliged. She wouldn't go anywhere, she'd promised, and thus far, she'd been able to keep that promise.

_'It won't always be like this,'_ Holly thought, feeling the truth deep in her heart. As she gazed at the man sitting next to her, she knew that any future with him had a price. Steve, however, was worth the cost. _'I can live with that. At the end of the day, so long as he's there, I can live with it.'_

* * *

**A/N:** And that, my friends, is that. So ends _At Day's End._ This has been the longest story I've ever written, and I'm so pleased with how it turned out, considering that I honestly had a very sparse outline from the beginning. This may have remained a one-shot, or a very short story, if it weren't for the encouragement and help from all you guys. To my signed-in reviewers: it was a joy and a pleasure to garner feedback and elicit your help as needed, and to get to know you in little ways via PM. To my anonymous reviewers: I greatly appreciate all your generous words and reviews, and I only wish I was able to tell you one-on-one. So many of you have been with me since Day 1, and some of you will favorite this right after the last chapter is posted, but I am so indebted to each and every one of you. Thank you all so much. I cannot express my gratitude more eloquently, I'm afraid, but I hope this will do.

That being said...there is a sequel. Come on, I can't build up to _Age of Ultron_ and not write about it, right? It is entitled _The Eleventh Hour _and the first chapter is up. You can find the link to it under my stories tab on my profile.

Any references to the MCU, _Writers Market, Star Wars, _other things that sound like I don't own them: I don't own them. And introducing the hardest character to write: Nick Fury! I was less intimidated to write for Natasha, I swear…I think because Fury is so prolific, I feel inadequate to write him. But still, he made it back in for the last run.

And can anyone say…Coulson…? Muahaha…;)

Again, thank you all so much for your time, your patience, and your encouragement. Please leave a review, PM me if you have any questions, and hop right to _The Eleventh Hour_.

See you there!

-_PhantomProducer_


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